


To Face Unafraid

by flashindie



Series: The Center and Circumference [5]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28668645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: “The plan isn’t changing,” she promises, raising her voice a little to be heard over the roaring opening chords of Last Christmas. “We’re still hosting everyone, and the kids are staying with us, it’s just - - something’s just come up which is - - I mean. It’s really not anything you need to worry about. I’ll tell you when I get home.”-Beth and Rio host their first Christmas together, only for an unexpected guest to stir up old, unresolved tensions.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio, Past Beth Boland/Dean Boland
Series: The Center and Circumference [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1416943
Comments: 49
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For so many prompts! I've put them in at the bottom. :-) 
> 
> In this 'verse, Rio's got a mom and two older sisters. Carmen is quite a bit older, a doctor with two kids of her own, and Aida is an artist and graphic designer, single, gay, and only 18 months older than Rio.

“No.”

And damn, if Rio doesn’t pop an eyebrow at _that_.

“No?”

The question is enough to make Jane’s bottom lip wobble as she rocks in her galoshes, the sound of her wet socks squelching inside them making somethin’ in Rio’s head twitch, because shit – he’d tried to get her out of them at the back door. Tried to pick her up and cart her upstairs to the tub, ready to wash the snow Kenny had shoved down the back of her parka off, but she hadn’t wanted that neither. Had been happy to dart beneath his arm the second he’d lugged Marcus up with his other; even happier apparently to leave a trail of sludgy footprints behind her through the kitchen like she wanted him to follow, and he hadn’t exactly.

Or y’know, he _had_ until she’d dashed past him again and he’d gotten a hand into the hood of her jacket.

“So you don’t want to get in there with him, huh?” Rio asks now, jerking his head back to where Marcus is already sprawled out in the tub, fuckin’ blissed out, his skinny arms slung over the rim and his body submerged in the steamy, sudsy water ‘til he looks like some sort of eight-year-old mafia don. It’d make Rio grin – _does_ – until he meets Jane’s look again, her bottom lip still wobbling as she furiously shakes her head, her rabbit beanie slipping down her icy wet hair.

Rio frowns.

“You ain’t cold?”

And shit, he knows she is.

Knows it because the second he’d pulled up to Glenvale Elementary School to pick ‘em up, she’d been cold. A last-day-of-school snowball fight havin’ ballooned out until the faculty were left frantically trying to dry off forty shivering kids, and whatever, Rio had thought. It was good for them. Work hard, play hard gotta start somewhere, and he’d plucked Jane and Marcus’ tooth-chattering selves out of the fray and blast the car heaters the whole way home, but the second they’d tumbled out into the yard, Kenny had thrown a snowball himself, and a fresh fight had begun.

And okay, maybe Rio should’ve stopped it sooner than he did, but he had Mick on call and the last drops to organise before the holidays, because apparently people buyin’ up supplies of prescription drugs as gifts for sick family members is a straight up _thing_ (and call Rio Father Christmas, because damn if he ain’t deliverin’ on the fuckin’ miracle. Ain’t even price gouging, although that’s more because Elizabeth had turned a particular shade of purple at the prospect and he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he’d bloated prices, but - - damn, it would’ve put at least one of the kids through college.)

Point is, maybe he meant to pull ‘em in after half an hour, but by the time he finally got back outside it’d been close to a full two and the kids were all red-nosed and tremblin’, their clothes soaked through, the evening just starting to yawn above them to swallow the last of the light whole.

“No,” Jane repeats now, sullen this time, and Rio feels his nostrils flare in irritation as he stares back down at her. At least the room is warm enough, he thinks, watching the steam curl the ends of her wet hair, the ebb of the heating warping the air as it pours from the floor vents. The kids’ bathroom is one of the rooms they’ve refit over the last year – a pet project of Elizabeth’s that Rio had found himself involved in, mostly because he almost got as much of a thrill out of inventing organisational systems as she did. The big, low white tub set back against the wall with polka dotted wallpaper above it, gold light fittings and a long, deep blue vanity that had as much storage as they could ever need. Still – it didn’t stop one of Emma’s bikini’d Barbie’s and a fuckin’ deluge of rubber sea animals from taking up space on every surface.

“I’m a grown up,” Jane adds, sniffing wetly, pulling his attention back, and Rio’s second eyebrow raises to meet his first. “Grown ups don’t have baths with _boys._ ”

“Om has baths with daddy,” Marcus says helpfully from the tub, and Rio gestures back at him, taking in the way Jane just huffs out a breath and stomps her little foot against the white honeycomb tiles and it figures, Rio thinks, that one of Elizabeth’s kids would end up with the fuckin’ stubborn-ass powerball in that genetic lottery.

Figures it’d be Jane too.

“That’s different, they have to share everything because they’re a mommy and an od.”

At least the others ain’t this stubborn, he reminds himself, scrubbing a hand back over his head. At least he’d been able to pile ‘em up with towels and sweats and direct them to the downstairs bathroom while he handled Jane and Marcus, but then again - -

He tunes his ear to ‘em – Emma and Danny’s giggles sounding through the floor beneath his feet, loud even over the downpour of the shower, and then:

The flush of a toilet.

Kenny screams.

Right.

Lotta other balls in that genetic lottery too, huh?

He exhales sharply.

“A’ight,” Rio says, looking back down at Jane’s pink little face. “You don’t gotta share a bath since you’re all grown, but you can’t stay in your wet clothes.”

And it’s weird then – the look that Jane levels him with. Somethin’ too hard in the set to her mouth and too open in her wide green eyes, and Rio’s frown deepens, brow furrowing, because there’s somethin’ in that look that tells him this ain’t entirely just about stubbornness, when suddenly Marcus chimes in from the tub.

“Soup.”

And shit, _no_ , they’re havin’ pizza for dinner – Rio’s already ordered it – but before he can say as much, Jane’s nose is wrinkling up and she’s rolling those too wide eyes and that hard set to her mouth is softening, and huh. They ain’t talking about dinner either.

“Soup doesn’t have _bubbles,_ Marcus.”

“This one does!” he tells her easily, and Rio turns to watch his son glide his hands through the bathwater, catching soapsuds, a too-innocent grin on his face. “It’s an alien soup. Like - - like from Neptune. I got abducted! I’m gonna get eaten! Help me, Officer Janey!!”

With that, he slides down into the water, flails his skinny legs up above the surface, yelling, and Rio huffs, exasperated as water spills over the top of the tub, but can’t quite hide the twitch at his lips when he sees Jane’s look tear – the urge to play too already warring on her face as she steps closer.

“No, Marcus! We can play _later,_ not - - ”

“Help!! Hel - - blergh.”

Marcus splutters around a mouthful of soapsuds, and Rio does roll his eyes this time, grabbing a washcloth from the sink to wipe his son’s face.

“You gonna help him, Officer Janey?” he asks, glancing back from Marcus and they can all see Jane’s resolve weakening. She shifts her weight, puffs out her cheeks, and then, just like that, she caves.

“Okay, Sir Marcus, I’ll get you home for Christmas.”

And thank fuck for that, Rio thinks, keeping his expression carefully in check as Marcus grins in delight, squirming back up the side of the tub to make room for her. It only takes a minute for her to peel off her jacket, leaking freezing water everywhere in the process, and Rio edges forwards, starting to help her when his cell phone buzzes in the back pocket of his jeans. He pulls it out, checks the number, and hooks it under his ear as he crouches down beside Jane.

“’ey,” he says, and immediately he’s met with a wave of sound from the chaos of the mall – the tinny, tinkling melodies of Christmas songs and the thrum of shoppers, the distant sounds of static announcements and the too-close bray of Annie’s laugh, but it’s Elizabeth who replies, her voice clear and clean as a bell.

“Hi. Did we decide on the flatware set for your sister in the end? They’ve got one on sale here at this cute little kitchen place, and - - ”

Rio sighs, annoyance sparking at the fraying edges of his patience. He lifts up Jane’s leg as she dangles herself over the edge of the tub, pulling off one of her galoshes, and then the other, cringing when her soaked pink socks settle back on the floor, leaving a smear of dirty water on the tiles.

“We decided _no,_ mami,” he tells Elizabeth over the line, pulling off Jane’s socks in one rough motion as Jane makes a grab for a rubber fish. “We already got her the - - ”

“Towels, I know, but she didn’t have enough forks for us when we were there last week, and if that’s going to be a regular thing now, I really think we should get her the extra flatware set.”

And shit, Rio thinks, moving to kneel so he can peel off Jane’s sopping wet sweater and shirt as she kicks off her jeans and undies, it figures.

It figures because Elizabeth’s been pressed about Carmen’s place since Carmen and Matt finally separated back in August, splitting up their assets and sellin’ the house. It had been a long time comin’, and Rio couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased about it – after all, him and Carmen hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye, but she was his sister and she was a boss, and Matt had always been the sort of belly crawlin’ fuck who’d soured at any woman who was more of one than him.

Anyway, it didn’t take all that much to work out that Elizabeth was watchin’ Carmen’s marriage dissolve and her new life as a single mom with the sort of projecting fixation that - - shit - - just dredged up baggage.

Still, it was kind of fuckin’ funny too to watch Elizabeth try to help Carmen in the way she wouldn’t let anyone do for her back when she finally called it with her own dumbass ex.

“Yeah, those towels weren’t cheap,” Rio says into the phone now, standing up and grabbing Jane underneath her icy arms to swing her into the hot water beside Marcus, letting his eyes slip shut briefly when Jane kicks a fresh wave of it onto the floor.

“Neither is cooking dinner for seven extra people.”

Grabbing his cell properly now that Jane’s settled, Rio grabs her and Marcus’ wet clothes off the floor and strides out of the room, down the stairs and beelines for the laundry. He grins, pleased, when he sees Emma’s already put her own snow clothes in the washing machine, even if she’s managed to spill washing powder all over the floor in the process of being so helpful.

“One thing,” he sing-songs over the bustle of the mall behind Elizabeth’s voice. “Everyone’s gettin’ one thing. If you want to get Carmen the flatware set, that’s _two_ things.”

And he can’t even see her, but he can _feel_ Elizabeth bristle down the line.

“I might not be as quick with the books as you, but I do know basic math, thank you.”

Which - - fuck, not what he meant. He grabs a rag out of the laundry cabinet, dropping down to wipe up the powder.

“Nah, you ain’t hearin’ me. I know you, Elizabeth. You get Carmen two things, you gettin’ everyone two things – Aida, my mom, your sister, your friend – we ain’t doin’ that this year. We decided that.”

Vaguely he can hear her sister laugh over the line again, and then Ruby say:

_What about…_

“No, I think she has one of those already,” Elizabeth replies, and Rio sighs, tossing the rag into the washing machine with the kids’ clothes. Vaguely, he can hear footsteps down the hall behind him, Jane and Marcus still playing in the tub, the shower a few rooms up, and he still has some business calls to make tonight, and damn, weren’t they going to figure out which presents were from Santa and which were from them later too? He checks his watch and frowns. 

“Elizabeth, what time you comin’ home?”

“Soon,” she tells him quickly, then, to one of the others: “That’s too much.”

Suddenly, a cold little hand grabs his wrist, and Rio glances down to see Emma clutching at it, already decked out in her pink fleecy sweats and rainbow fuzzy unicorn slippers, which’d be fine if her hair wasn’t hanging wet, soaking into the back of her dressing gown. He frowns, pushes his cell between his shoulder and head again to pull a hair elastic off his wrist and tie her hair back up off her neck.

“Od, can we watch _Frozen_ tonight?”

Rio briefly blanches at that, but grunts in affirmation, letting her go only for Emma to come back and cling to his hand again, splaying his fingers so she can fit her own between his. He blinks down at her curiously, picking up his cell again with his other hand, because it ain’t like she’s never held his hand before – she’s always been a touchy kid – but he figured she’d be out of sight the second he told her she could put _Frozen_ on. Like she’s seen the look on his face, she squeezes his hand and sidles closer until she’s practically on top of his leg, and so Rio crouches down, lugging her up and carrying her out of the laundry and over to the living room, letting her rest her head on his shoulder as she clings to his side.

“Annie, stop it,” Elizabeth says, annoyance growing in her tone, and Rio rolls his eyes, depositing Emma on the couch, and okay, maybe the kid’s just tired, given how she’s nestling back in the cushions, her big blue eyes only half-lidded.

He flicks on the TV while Elizabeth babbles to Annie and Ruby in his ear, like she’s half-forgotten to hang-up, and he’s about to do it himself instead when he hears the name _Dean_ pop outta Annie’s mouth, which - -

Fuck _that._

His jaw tightens, loosens, tightens again.

“Thought we weren’t doin’ all of that this year,” he hums, trying to keep his voice light as he loads up _Frozen_ on Disney+ and grabs one of the blankets to toss over Emma, because wasn’t that dumbass ex of hers off in Nevada this year with his new girl’s family?

“What?”

And sure, _play dumb, baby_ , Rio thinks, striding out of the room as Emma wriggles down in the blanket. He heads back towards the corridor, hearing Jane squeal somewhere upstairs and Marcus laugh as he moves towards the downstairs bathroom.

“Thought we had the place and everyone in it to ourselves.”

“We do,” she tells him quickly, and he can hear her moving herself, walkin’ maybe – her sister’s voice getting further away.

“We ain’t changin’ plans.”

Because fuck – they’re a week out from Christmas, and they had shit on lock this year. Had decided on that together too after the whole mess of last year with Elizabeth having to do the six-hour round trip to take the kids to South Haven after Dean’s car had broken down (fuckin’ _allegedly_ , Rio thinks with a snort, because he could smell that bullshit a mile away).

“The plan isn’t changing,” she promises, raising her voice a little to be heard over the roaring opening chords of _Last Christmas_. “We’re still hosting everyone, and the kids are staying with us, it’s just - - something’s just come up which is - - I mean. It’s really not anything you need to worry about. I’ll tell you when I get home.”

Exhaling harshly, Rio scrubs a hand back over his head again, and shit – if this means Dean’s comin’ - -

He pauses, distracted suddenly by the sight of Danny bouncing from foot-to-foot outside the bathroom, shaking with cold in his parka and beanie, melted snow dripping from his hair, waiting still for his turn in the bathroom. With a grunt of irritation, Rio strides up the hall, banging heavily on the door only to hear a strained _in a minute_ from Kenny through the crack, and Jesus, Rio thinks.

Teenagers.

He covers the mouthpiece of the phone, glancing down at Danny who just shifts his weight again, snow-pale except for his bright red nose as he stares up at him.

“Use our bathroom,” he tells him, jerking his head upstairs towards his and Elizabeth’s en suite and Danny blinks owlishly back at him, shivering still, and Rio jerks his head in instruction again because it’d be just his luck to have to cart the kid to hospital for hypothermia again.

“Is everything okay there?” Elizabeth asks as someone says _is this all today, ma’am?_

“Fine,” Rio says shortly, and then, just to annoy her: “I’ll tell you when you get home, yeah?”

And it works, if her huff is anything to go by, but then when he hears _cash or card?_ his lip curls.

“Elizabeth, don’t get the flatware set.”

The last thing he hears before she hangs up is the ring of the cash register.

* * *

The clean cut of scissors through paper is the only sound to break the quiet as Rio finally slips into their bedroom later that night. Every other noise – the soft breaths of the sleeping children and the barely audible whirr of the armed security system, the whistling wind and slipping car tyres on black-ice roads – somehow dulled to a distant static.

And it’s affectin’, that’s all – the peace of it working with the dim, warm light wanning out of their bedside lamps, the familiarity of Elizabeth’s body, hidden beneath some of the ugliest flannel pyjamas he’s ever seen, bent over their bed. He lets his gaze fix on her ass as she reaches over the sheets for the tape, starting to tug his rings off as he wonders how quickly they can get the wrapping done so he can unwrap _her._

He catches a glimpse of red in front of her, then a familiar white cursive.

“You get the one she wanted?” he asks, and Elizabeth turns, startled, like she hadn’t even heard him come in, and he exhales a little laugh, because damn, he wasn’t even tryin’ to be quiet. Not really. Still, she holds up the Barbie box in front of her so he can see the Misty Copeland Inspiring Woman Barbie inside.

“At the _fourth_ store,” she groans, exhaustion thick in her tone. “Next year, we’re starting in July.”

And sure, Rio thinks with a snort, maybe if any of the kids held interest in shit for more than a few weeks. Striding past her, he drops his rings into the tray on his bedside table, then his bangles, eyeing off the array of brightly coloured toy boxes on the bed, pleased when he sees the LEGO Gear Bots kits for Jane and Marcus (Elizabeth had fought him on it, that’s all – said she could already feel the pain in her feet from steppin’ on the scattered parts – like he wouldn’t make sure they picked ‘em up).

She follows his gaze and rolls her eyes, amused.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” she tells him. “They were just easy to get to, and I didn’t want to fight the crowd anymore.”

He hums, grinning when Elizabeth can’t quite hide her own smile, wrapping up the doll for Emma in a few quick, neat motions. Making for the roll of gift wrap to help with the rest of it, Rio can only blink when Elizabeth suddenly smacks his hand away.

“I have a system,” she sniffs, and of course she does. He holds his hands up in surrender, before pushing some of the toys aside to sit heavily on the edge of the bed. Rubbing a hand back over his head, down to the base of his skull, he feels the tightness in the muscles at his neck and massages rough fingers into them.

They’d barely had a chance to talk when she’d gotten home. Not with her bustin’ through the front door, more shopping bags than person, leaving Rio to force the kids to sit and stay at the table while she made bad work of secreting all the gifts up to their bedroom, snow dusting the shoulders of her jacket and her fingers trembling red because she’d lent her gloves to her sister last month and never gotten them back. By the time she was at the table with them, Rio had barely had the chance to kiss her hello before Mick was callin’ and Rio was stuck in his office for another hour talking to Gretchen about getting one of the new kids out of police custody (speeding ticket then mouthin’ off to the arresting cop with a carful of pills, fuckin’ typical), and by the time he’d gotten back, Elizabeth had been dozing on the couch, Emma cuddled into her side while Jane sat beside Kenny, tryin’ to tell him she was old enough for _Gremlins_ , and then - -

Well.

Rio had had to put a stop to that too.

“You move the elf?” Elizabeth asks now, rolling out another square of wrapping paper, and Rio blinks over at her, watching the lamplight catch her hair, her pale cheeks, the blonde fan of her eyelashes. She’s close enough to him here that he can smell her rose-geranium body wash, her peppermint toothpaste, and he lets his eyes scan her face, but she ain’t lookin’ at him. Not yet. So he hums in affirmation, not bothering to tell her that he left her judgement elf beside the downstairs shower for tomorrow so Kenny might get the hint that all their lives would be easier if he saved his Teenage Boy Time for when there wasn’t a damn queue for the bathroom.

Swallowing a yawn, Rio grabs at one of her wrists, tugging her lightly towards him.

“’Ey, come here,” he says, and Elizabeth does look at him then, turning exhausted eyes over him and shaking her head. Gently, she tugs her arm free of his grip, using it instead to point to a bag at the end of the bed.

“I want to finish this first. There are a few things in there though, do you want to see which one you want for your mom?”

And fuck if that don’t make him groan. He gives her a look too, just to really hammer home the point, because he’d already _bought_ his mom those fancy-ass seasonal bakin’ pans she’d been not-so-subtly hinting at over the last few months, which means one of these already-wrapped gifts on the end of the bed is definitely the damn flatware set for Carmen. Still, he leans back, ignoring the way the box for Kenny’s new headphones digs into his side, and roughly grabs the bag.

While Elizabeth keeps wrapping, Rio pulls out two small sculptures, each carefully encased in bubble wrap. The fact of that alone is enough to make him blink, to glance up at Elizabeth who’s distracted with sorting through the gift tags, finding the pattern she wants for Emma’s present, and fine, he thinks, looking at each of the sculptures. They’re more or less the same – a firm, marble base with a twisting gold stem giving way to an abstract-looking flower – the only real difference in the type – one an orchid, the other a lily.

It’s nice, but in that sort of bullshit generic way that Elizabeth usually avoids in her gifts. Likes her personal touch on everything in a way that really seems like more effort than necessary to Rio, but still. He works his jaw a little, chewing over the thought of his mother’s taste, and finally settling on the lily, he puts it aside before holding up the orchid sculpture to Elizabeth.

“You want me to take this back when I’m out with Aida?”

“No, it’s - -” she pauses for a second, and huh, Rio thinks, eyes narrowing a little, eyes darting to catch her averted gaze. She wets her lips. “I’m going to give the other one to Judith.”

Rio pops an eyebrow, glancing back at the sculpture.

It explains the choice at least, but damn, last year all she got her was a framed photo of the kids _from_ the kids, and a Tupperware container full of fruit slice. Mulling the information over, Rio sucks in his lips, keeping his gaze fixed on the sculpture as he turns it over in his hands.

“Yeah? She seein’ the kids for Christmas?”

He ain’t really sure why it hadn’t occurred to him – guess he just figured Dean would’ve done somethin’ with the kids and his mother when he got back from Nevada, which would put any sort of gift givin’ directly on that dumbass’ shoulders, but then - -

The thought sours in his head.

It wouldn’t be the first time Elizabeth had bought someone a gift on Dean’s behalf.

The muscles in his neck suddenly tighten all over, and Rio rolls his shoulders back in an attempt to loosen them, pushing the sculpture onto his bedside table beside the lily, and just - - fuck. There are words clawing up from the floor of his mouth, sharp ones, but then Elizabeth sighs, and she just - - looks at him. Properly. For the first time since he sat down on the bed, and her lip ain’t just wet anymore, it’s red, plump, like she’s been bitin’ on it.

“She’s seeing all of us for Christmas. I invited her here.”

And whatever he’d been expecting, it sure as hell wasn’t _that._

“’scuse me?”

It’s instant then, the way Elizabeth starts to babble – about running into Judith at the mall tonight, how the older woman had asked if she could drop the gifts around for the kids since she wasn’t sure how long Dean was going to be in Nevada for or what they’d do when he got back, and - -

“And then I asked her if she was planning on seeing her brother for Christmas, and she said that he and his wife and all their kids and grandkids were going to Seattle for two weeks, and she wasn’t _invited_ – which isn’t a surprise, trust me, Dean’s Uncle Denny has always been a jerk – so she was going to spend it _alone_. God, it was so sad, you have no idea, and I just - - you know, I always make too much food, and - - ” 

And Rio’s shaking his head, all the tension in his neck inching down his traps.

“She ain’t your responsibility.”

Because fuck, she’s _not_ , but it must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because Elizabeth’s look hardens, and she stands up straighter, looming over him on the bed, her mouth set.

“She’s my children’s grandmother. For a long time, she was their only grandmother.”

Somewhere down the hall, Rio hears a sudden burst of tinny noise – a TikTok video or a game loaded up on the iPad – but then just as quickly re-muted. Hears one of the other kids slip out of bed and scurry down the hall towards the noise – probably Jane or Marcus or both. They really don’t like missing out.

Rio inhales a deep breath.

“The kids love your mom,” Elizabeth tells him quietly, ignoring the noise. “They love having an abuela, but - - they love Judith too. She’s a good grandma. And she’s always been good with Marcus too. She includes him in everything.”

And okay – she ain’t wrong on that one.

Judith’s never exactly hidden the fact that she don’t approve of Rio, but she’d never let it show in front of the kids. Damn, the second she’d realised Marcus existed, she’d made sure Elizabeth’s kids took home extra cake for him when they stayed over, and any trip not managed by Dean (and recently, even the ones he had), she’d take him on, buyin’ him stuffed animals from the zoo like she did for all of the kids, even putting him into her rotating schedule for who got to pick the movie at the cinema when she took ‘em all on the first Saturday of every month, something that had delighted Marcus to the point he’d started callin’ her _og_ (short for other grandma).

Hadn’t stopped Judith from giving Rio the cold fuckin’ shoulder the second the kids were out of earshot though.

With a sigh, Rio rubs at his forehead before dragging his hand down his face, his bare toes curling in the carpet under their bed as Elizabeth starts pottering around him again, rolling out the gift wrap and grabbing for the LEGO kits – a nervous distraction.

This just wasn’t supposed to be it this year.

Nah, not with Dean in Nevada and Laura havin’ to work. Not when they had all the kids, his family, shit – it was even Annie’s year to have Ben, so she was bringin’ him too, and with Carmen divorced, he got his own sister and nephews without Matt’s deadweight, and Mick was handlin’ the pills, and - -

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Rio lifts his head at that, glancing back at where Elizabeth’s wrapping up one of the LEGO kits beside him, her shoulders curved forwards as she leans over the bed, and he knows if he leant sideways, just a little, he’d be able to see down the neck of her shirt.

Knows she knows that too.

He sucks in his lower lip, leaning the opposite way to grab the lily sculpture from the bed and push it onto the bedside table with the orchid, out of the way.

“Yeah?” he asks, dropping his hands behind him and staring up at her. “How you gonna do that?”

There must be somethin’ in his tone, because she looks over at him again, lets her blue-eyed gaze shift across his face, and he can see it – the way they darken, the way somethin’ clears the exhaustion from them just enough to refocus. She wets her lips, shifts her weight, pulls off a piece of tape.

“I have my ways,” she tells him, her voice airy and sweet in that way that he knows means she’s playin’, and he hums, tilts his head sideways, finally takin’ up the invitation to stare down her shirt.

“Might need you to lay a little somethin’ down in advance,” he says, eyes tracing the deep curve of her pale breast, a mostly faded hickey on it he’s itchin’ to darken again. “Just so I know you’re good for it.”

And her lips twitch then, her eyes darting back to him as she seals up the gift, and he waits until she’s finished it (a damn picture of patience), before he grabs her wrist again, pulling her easily between his legs and undoing the top button of her pyjama shirt with a nimble hand. She bats him away with a smiling eye roll, and that’s okay, he thinks, moving his hands to squeeze her ass and lean in to nip at her breast through her shirt instead.

The gasp that escapes her mouth is too fuckin’ sweet, and he grins, nuzzling at her chest when he feels her hands entwine around the back of his head, moving his own low, below her ass, so his palms grip the backs of her thighs and his fingers curl around between them, easing them apart until he can feel the heat from her cunt against the curve of his grip.

“We need to finish wrapping the presents,” she tells him, but her hands are still curled around the back of his head, holdin’ him against her breasts, and damn, if this ain’t his favourite place to be. He noses in again, opens his mouth until he can taste the flannel of her shirt, frees up one hand just to undo more of her shirt buttons. Wants skin, wants the achingly smooth skin of her breast at his fingertips, the pebble of her nipple firming against his teeth.

She shifts in his arms, moves one of her legs until she’s straddling his thigh, and _huh_ , he thinks, pleased, feeling her drag her hot, albeit covered cunt up his thigh. Grabbing her ass again, he yanks her up, her grip on his head tightening as she shifts to grind against his hip, her breaths growing unsteady, bed dipping as she gets a knee on it to angle herself, and then one of her hands is gone from his head, dipping low between them to fondle his cock through his sweats, and how easy will it be? To get both their pants off and sink her onto him here? His feet on the floor giving him an achingly good momentum to fuck up into her, his face buried in her perfect tits, and - -

A rap at the door.

They both stop.

Moving.

Breathing.

Just - -

Stop.

“Od?” a little voice calls. “I had a bad dream.”

Elizabeth’s hand springs away from his cock and she bodily rolls off him, scrambling not to button up her shirt, but to cover the fuckin’ presents. Rolling his eyes, Rio slides off the bed, scratching a little at his neck as he shifts gears and starts towards the door.

“I got her, mama,” Rio calls back at Elizabeth – after all, it was him Emma called for – and Elizabeth blinks, twists back towards him, and when his eyes dip down, he sees her flush the whole way to her belly button before she remembers to sort her shirt out. He hums out an affectionate laugh before he can help it, gaze darting back up to her face, and adding: “Stay up though, yeah?”

It’s enough to make her flip him off, and Rio chuckles as he slips out the door, only to sober up when he’s met with a glassy eyed Emma, wrapped up in the same blanket he’d covered her with on the couch (and damn, had she been up already and gone downstairs to get it?) So maybe she’s not just tired, he thinks, crouching down to gently up her chin in his hand.

“You want special drink?” he asks her, the nickname for Elizabeth’s magic concoction of warm milk and cinnamon, and it’s all Emma can do to nod, collapsing into his chest, her arms curling around his neck as he carries her down to the kitchen.

* * *

By the time he gets back to their room, the bed’s been cleared, the kids’ presents wrapped and the scissors, tape and ribbons all piled back into Elizabeth’s overflowin’ craft box, squirreled down from their home office (and shit, Rio never thought he’d have a craft station anywhere he worked).

Well, maybe not entirely cleared, he thinks, lips twitching at the sight of Elizabeth passed out on top of the covers, like she’d tried to stay awake but couldn’t, her pale skin cold and her mouth red and open, the buttons on her shirt askew.

Padding over to the bed, Rio throws back the covers, rolling her over so he can slide her back beneath them, pressing his lips against her temple when she starts to stir. She don’t wake though, and Rio pulls the duvet her tired body, stepping back to brush his teeth, only for his eyes to catch on a glint of gold.

The two sculptures, still on his bedside table, bright beneath the lamplight, and the tension in his neck holds freshly firm and just - -

Fuck.

* * *

“Well, I think it’s nice,” Aida says loudly, taking a sip from her coffee as they walk the main stretch of the mall. “She’s just like, a lonely old lady, it’s not her fault her son’s a dick.”

And Rio can’t help but shake his head at that, dropping his own (now empty) coffee cup into the trash can as they walk past one, stepping around a pissed off looking woman trying to wheel a new wicker bassinet stuffed with diapers in the process.

“Bull. She’s got a lot to answer for with Elizabeth’s dumbass ex, trust me.”

But Aida just rolls her eyes.

“Sure. Even if that’s true though, Elizabeth’s _dumbass ex_ ain’t gonna be there, is he? So all you’re doing is setting another place at the table for a - - what? Seventy-year-old widow? Who’s son ain’t botherin’ to even schedule her in over the holidays? It makes _you_ ,” and she points at him with her coffee at that. “Look good. Not just to Beth either. It’s a good example for Marcus, _and_ it gives mom something to brag about to the ladies at Sainte Anne’s. She needs that right now with Carmen’s d-i-v-o-r-c-e.”

She sing-songs the last word, turning on the spot until she’s practically walking backwards through the crowd of wild-eyed Christmas shoppers, her own gaze searching out a bin as she swallows the last mouthful of her coffee. With her dark hair hanging loose around her face and at least three sweaters on beneath a padded green jacket (she’s always felt the cold, ever since they were kids), she looks like she’s just rolled out of bed still _wearin’_ her bed. But then again, scruffy artist is sort of Aida’s whole-ass vibe.

(“Shabby _chic_ ,” she’d insisted once. “Not that I’d expect you to know shit about _that_.”)

With a sigh, Rio gestures for her to turn back around and walk the right way, which Aida only actually does when he points out the bin ahead of them, and then he can only watch as she beelines through the crowded mall towards it.

The thing is, she ain’t wrong – their mom hadn’t exactly taken Carmen’s divorce well – even if she’d always been on the same page as Rio when it came to the guy. If anything, Aida had been the only one of them who’d seen what Carmen had liked about Matt, but where Rio hadn’t been able to bite his tongue, their mom was forever a master of diplomacy, and besides.

A ring was a ring, a weddin’ a weddin’, and a marriage a marriage.

 _And vows_ , she’d said sharply over dinner back in August when Carmen had told them, _are forever_.

Which didn’t do shit to stop Carmen from signing the papers at that point. She wasn’t the type to fuck around once she’d made a choice (not like Elizabeth, Rio thinks with a snort), but things had been tense at family dinners ever since and only gotten worse once word spread beyond the family. Rio had had both his mom and Carmen on the phone more than he wanted to, listening to them bitch about each other between their grocery store visits and school runs and on their lunch breaks (their mom still works part-time at the Franklin library, even though she don’t need the check anymore. Just to keep sharp, she always says, but he knows really she just likes it).

Across the mall, he watches as Aida makes her way back towards him, swinging her purse over her shoulder and adjusting her grip on her shopping bags. They’ve done a few places already at least – a bookstore, a Pottery Barn, even some cheap ass trinket store that smelt like bleach – and Rio hadn’t bought shit (his shopping was more or less done), but Aida had enough to fill a cart.

“You sure you don’t wanna take that shit back to the car?” he asks her when she gets back to him, and Aida shakes her head.

“There are only a few more places I want to go. Plus I’m gonna try and make that no-knead bread for Noche Buena, so I need to start that today if I want it ready in time.”

Down the busy mall, a child wails. The sound loud and catching Rio’s ear, even though he knows the kids are home with Elizabeth. It ain’t hard to find the source – a woman frantically stumbles out of an electronics store, tinsel caught on the heel of her shoe as she drags behind her a wobbly-lipped, red faced kid, who’s kicking his way through a tantrum. He clutches at some decorative, Styrofoam reindeer outside the next store, knockin’ over half a display of cell chargers in the process. It’s all it takes for the lady to instantly burst into tears herself, sinking to the floor in embarrassment when a few people stop to help her pick things up.

Rio huffs out a breath, glancing back at Aida.

“You don’t gotta cook anything. Between mom and Elizabeth, food won’t be a problem.” 

With a snort, Aida swings her shopping bags as she walks, almost hitting some guy in the chest.

“Please. Like mom would let me leave alive if I showed up empty handed. Besides, isn’t this weird for Beth? I thought she was Jewish. Shouldn’t you be doing Chanukah and stuff too?”

“Nah, she ain’t practicin’,” Rio says, his gaze still fixed on the still-sobbing woman and the red cheeked kid, now on his hands and knees on the linoleum floor, kicking out little legs as everyone else scrambles to pick up the chargers. Aida twists back around to look at him, an eyebrow arched.

“Oh, and _you’re_ a practicin’ Catholic now?”

Which - -

Okay.

Rio pulls his attention away from the kid and the lady to give Aida a look, but she just laughs, shaking her head.

“You’re carting her and all those kids to Noche Buena at Sainte Anne’s, gettin’ all of them dressed up for las posadas, and yet you can’t light some fuckin’ candles on a menorah?”

And it ain’t like that. It’s just - - 

Damn, Elizabeth ain’t exactly flush with family that she didn’t make inside herself, and all the bullshit they’ve done at home for the holidays so far has come from her – the homemade stockings, the Elf on the Shelf shit, the drive downtown to see the Christmas lights that had Kenny rolling his eyes and Emma waxin’ lyrical about fairytales. They’ve done what she wanted, and, well - -

“She said she doesn’t do that,” he says with a shrug, because she did, and besides: “It don’t matter now anyway, Chanukah finished on the 18th this year.”

“Right, so you dropped that fuckin’ ball. You don’t think it’s weird she doesn’t celebrate her own holiday, even in some non-practicing way, but she’s gonna celebrate _yours?_ With your non-practicing ass? And I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m guessing that ex of hers maybe liked her fluffin’ up his stockin’ and layin’ out all that food for Christmas too. Fuck, he’s kinda still doin’ it, huh? What with him dumping his own mom on her.”

Rio’s step suddenly falls heavy, the space around him a little warmer than it should be, and he rocks his jaw, lifts a hand to tug his beanie off his ears, just to feel the dull ebb of the mall air on them as he watches Aida walk beside him, her gaze unbothered, unaffected, as she scans the strip of shops on the left.

Wetting his lips, he’s about to say something – what, he’s got no fuckin’ clue – when Aida’s face suddenly brightens. She grabs his arm tight, tugging him in the direction of a tiny boutique jewellery store, nestled between a couple of high fashion places. Rio blinks in surprise, letting Aida tug him over to the place.

“What - -”

But before he has time to answer, Aida’s talking again.

“I still gotta get something for Beth’s girls. They’ve got their ear’s pierced right? This place has a cute kids’ range. All fairies and unicorns and shit.”

As soon as they step foot in the store, the sounds of the mall are drowned out by the sultry purr of Eartha Kitt singing _Santa Baby,_ the piercing fluorescent lighting replaced with the sort of mood lighting Rio ain’t used to outside of luxury hotels, and it’s enough to give him pause. His gaze slides across glass cabinet after glass cabinet of glinting diamonds, pearls, sapphires, rubies, all different cuts and sets as Aida lets go of his arm and steps ahead.

It ain’t like Rio don’t know his way around a jewellery store – damn, he’s been in business with more than a few over the years, and been with a lot of women who could overlook his disappearances, his bruised knuckles, when offered somethin’ that caught the light just right – but thing is, Rio also knows when somebody’s tryna play him.

His gaze fixes back on Aida, who’s stopped now in front of one particular cabinet, and Rio don’t gotta see what’s in it to know what’s there.

Still, despite himself, he follows.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low and dry as he stops at her side. “These don’t look like unicorn earrings.”

Understatement of the fuckin’ year.

In the glass cabinet, sit fifteen diamond rings.

All different shapes, sizes, but also classic and elegant. Pear-shaped and princess-cut and three stone and double halo, some with pink stones set alongside the white, others with yellow, blue, smaller ones and different cut ones. Doesn’t matter, they shine all the same beneath the clean lights of the display case, the bands big – too big for Elizabeth’s small fingers – designed for the every woman, and just - - shit. Ain’t Elizabeth always been one of a kind?

“You know what one way to distract everyone from Carmen’s divorce would be?” Aida hums, dragging her fingers down the display case, and when Rio shoots her an unimpressed look, she laughs, something too loud and bright. “I’m _joking._ Mostly. But look, you and Beth are like, more than halfway there, between the house and the kids and I don’t know. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. It’s the holidays. It’s just a suggestion.”

“Just a suggestion,” Rio echoes slowly, rolling a hand out towards her. “This you or Carmen or mom or all of you?”

“Oh, the ambush is all me,” Aida says happily. “But we’ve all been talking about it. You kept her a secret for so long! We didn’t even _know_ about her until you bought the house with her, and I don’t know. I like seeing you with her, you seem…”

She trails off then, her forehead furrowed, before she smiles a little at him.

“I don’t know. Different. Happy. Look, I just wanted to float the idea, nobody needs a ring for Christmas, shit, get her a bracelet or something.”

Rio snorts, and Aida laughs, waving her hands around the little boutique, out at where a shop assistant helps a sweaty, nervous lookin’ guy pick out a locket, and another measures a woman’s finger, before she says: “Ladies like this shit, _Christopher_. That’s all I’m saying.” 

With that, she steps sideways, over to the next cabinet in the guise of giving him space, which is bullshit, given draggin’ him to look at engagement rings with zero damn warning feels like the exact opposite of _space_ , but still. His gaze drops back to the rings, taking in the easy shape of them, the glint, and shit, the _expense_ , and he can’t deny that the thought doesn’t whisper to some part of him that’s listenin’.

The thought that she could wear his money on her finger, wear somethin’ that marked her as _his_ , that people could see and know who, _what_ , they both were. Somethin’ that they could look at that would make sense of this thing between them, to match the thing that they live in that tries to.

Vows though.

They’re forever.

And in his head he sees Elizabeth, feels her heads on the back of his skull as she pulls him to her breast.

In his head, he sees the lily and he sees the orchid too.

Rio sucks on his teeth, tearing his gaze away from the diamond rings and stepping stiffly down to one of the other cabinets, shoving all thoughts aside in his head, because fuck, Aida was right out there, wasn’t she?

Elizabeth was still runnin’ ground control for fuckin’ _Dean,_ wasn’t she? Still bringin’ his mom to their day, their house, because that fuck ain’t bothered to think about anything other than gettin’ his dick wet in Nevada for Christmas, and maybe Rio’s mom was right about those vows after all.

Only Elizabeth ain’t made hers with _him._

At his side, his fingers twitch, aching for something to latch onto, hold onto that ain’t this flurry of anger twisting up inside him, this thing that ain’t ever quite been uprooted – the thought that the house and the work and the life they’re building don’t matter, because she ain’t entirely his, that she ain’t even entirely her own – that this dumb fuck is like the childhood Chickenpox scar on the back of her neck, and - -

His cell buzzes.

Rio pulls it out of his pocket, jaw rocking when he sees Mick’s number blaring back at him, and he answers it without another thought.

“Yeah?”

“We got the stock back from impound.”

Blinking, Rio wets his lips, stepping sideways, blankly eyeing off the jewellery while his mind slips back to work. Right. The kid who got arrested with the car full of pills. Gretchen had got him out of the lock up, but not his car, which hadn’t even been processed yet. By some stroke of idiot luck, the boys in blue hadn’t bothered to check inside the backseat headrest where the pills were stashed, and Rio had sent Mick off to collect.

“Cool, you right to play the man in red? Deliver those toys to all the good girls and boys?”

Across the small store, Aida catches his eye, an uneasy frown on her face, and then, just as quick, a shop assistant double takes on him as she goes to ring up some cheap-ass lookin’ locket. Rio sucks on his teeth, mandible working, and down the line, Mick snorts.

“Yeah. Want me to schedule in the lumps of coal too? Dags offered to handle it, so Carlos could have the few days with his girl and his kids.”

“Dags ain’t spendin’ it with his?”

“Nah, his ex is takin’ his son out to Des Moines this year coz her grandpa’s not gonna make it to the next one. Dags is doing his own thing with him next week, so asked for it off. I already said he was good for it.”

Rio hums in agreement, gaze fixing on a pearl necklace. He wets his lips again.

“Do it,” he says, and Mick makes a noise of affirmation before hanging up.

The funny thing is, Rio thinks, slipping his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, Elizabeth _does_ wear jewellery, and all of this? He can see ‘em on her – see the glint of sapphire earrings beneath the veil of her sun-kissed hair, see the effortless, expensive drape of a gold chain across her clavicle, a pendent dipped between her breasts, holding the warmth of her body like a promise just for him – but then again, he knows she won’t wear any of it, not if it comes from him. Nah. Knows the only jewellery she likes these days comes from the kids or her own wallet. That gettin’ anythin’ sparkly from him only makes her feel like the trophy she don’t wanna be anymore.

But then again, that ex of hers couldn’t buy her any of this, and to give her somethin’, anything, in front of his mother? His kids? 

Rio huffs out a breath, letting his gaze linger on a pair of diamond vine drop earrings, wets his lips as the image of her in them and nothin’ else fills his head, and maybe she’d take ‘em if they were a present for him and not for her. The thought makes him hum, tilt his head, eye off the price as the shop assistant who’d clocked him starts nervously towards him, her eyes fixed on his neck.

“Hi there,” she starts, but whatever else she says, Rio doesn’t hear. There’s a flash of colour behind her, and his gaze catches on Aida suddenly striding out of the store, her face flushed and her eyes fixed ahead and just - - shit. Did somethin’ happen? His gaze flicks rapidly around the boutique, lookin’ for a culprit, and when he finds none, Rio follows, already feeling a fresh, tense set to his shoulders.

The sounds of the mall corridor explode again around him – the chatter of shoppers, tantrum-throwing kids (and damn, he hopes it ain’t the same one), the too-loud soundtrack of pop Christmas songs, and he calls Aida’s name across it all, trying to catch her, but she doesn’t stop. Not until he’s almost at her side, not until he’s reached, grabbed her arm, tugged her back, and when she turns towards him, a flurry of shopping bags and sweaters, she almost hits him.

“What - - ” he starts, but she doesn’t let him finish.

“When I said you seem different with her, I meant you seem like _you_ ,” she says roughly, her voice low enough that Rio has to strain to hear it. “Not like _what_ you do.”

It’s enough to slam his jaw shut, cowed only briefly before the irritation starts to simmer under his skin, because fuck, they’ve _been here_ before. Been round this track, over this book, through this _fucking_ conversation, over and over since he started out when they were kids, and he doesn’t know what the fuck she wants from him. He doesn’t talk to her about shit, Carmen doesn’t either, even when he knows she wants to (usually after patching him up).

“Aida, I - -”

“No, I don’t - - you don’t bring this shit around me. I don’t want it. You promised me you wouldn’t.”

“I _didn’t_ ,” he bites, and Aida shakes her head, squares her jaw, says:

“ _Do it?_ You think I don’t know what that means when it comes from someone like you?”

Rio feels his nostrils flare, but worse, he feels it in his gaze, feels his face hardening in that way he don’t let it around his women, his family, but he’s too fucking pissed off to stop it – the short fuse of his temper lit and stamped out and lit again – and he sees the flicker of the wound in Aida’s eyes, the one he won’t ever be able to fix because deep down she knows what he does _is_ who he is, and she sucks in a wet, shaky breath. And then, just like that, she’s pulling free of his grip and disappearing amongst the crowd, a mess of too many sweaters and Christmas shopping and words Rio won’t soon shake outta his head, and just - -

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

The thing about boxing these days is he’s got too many people noticin’ the bruises.

Split knuckles, lip, a graze at a cheekbone, forearm, ribs, it don’t matter, or – fuck, it _didn’t_ matter.

Didn’t matter when he was younger, when he lived alone, when he could tend to himself and keep his distance until the ink blot stains of new bruises faded to just a mottled brown, something that could be explained away at Sunday night dinner as jammin’ a hand in a drawer or a toddlin’ Marcus headbutting him on the couch. Thin explanations that’d make his own mother hum and his sisters roll their eyes, but stopped the lectures before they could start.

Because boxin’ ain’t ever just been boxing, not for him, and they all knew it.

Pulling the car to a stop in the driveway, Rio glances down at his hands on the steering wheel and sucks on his teeth. He didn’t wrap his hands tight enough at the gym, and it tells now in the bruises at his knuckles, circling each knob in a ring of sharply drawn purple, the skin split at one or two, marking his fists. They’re tender too, leaving his fingers stiff and when he flexes them, the pop echoes loud through his caddy, and just - - _fuck_.

It was supposed to calm him down.

After he’d let Aida disappear into the crowd at the mall, he’d given her a half hour of space in the hopes she’d circle back to him, her face scrubbed red, but her voice light and flippant, like nothin’ had ever happened, like she did every other time they had this fight. Because that was the thing – they’d had it before – at fifteen, twenty, twenty-eight, thirty-three. Didn’t matter. They circled the same fuckin’ talkin’ points like re-runs on cable, and he was ready for the next scene, the next act, the closer before the credits rolled.

But that wasn’t what happened because Aida hadn’t played her part.

She hadn’t circled back, and when he’d called her cell, she hadn’t answered, and when he’d head out to the parking lot, her shitty, beat-up Honda was gone.

The whole damn thing had pissed him off enough he’d thought about driving out to her apartment – lettin’ himself in with the key she always forgot he had – so they could finish this, but then again, what the fuck was there to even finish?

Ain’t like Aida sulkin’ was gonna change shit for him, and treating her like one of his acting-up boys wasn’t gonna get her falling into line. He was still gonna be who he was, and the fact of that alone was gonna twist itself up like a knot between Aida’s shoulder blades, and Rio’d be fooling himself to think anything was ever gonna massage that shit out.

So he’d hit the gym instead.

And okay, it wasn’t his usual day, so his boys weren’t there, and instead he’d ended up in the ring with some too-big, wonky-nosed fuck who called himself The Mountain like he was on _Game of Thrones_ (or _in_ it anyway, Rio ain’t watched the show, but he read a couple of the books a few years back and would be lying if he said he didn’t get a kick out of bullshittin’ Elizabeth’s sister with stuff that wasn’t ever gonna happen), and sure, maybe the guy was a weight class above him, but that ain’t been an issue for Rio in a long time.

He’d flattened the fucker.

Still, he thinks, pulling down the visor and sliding open the mirror, checkin’ the bruise smarting just below his right eye.

The guy had gotten a few hits in.

Right in time for Christmas.

Shoving the visor back up, Rio grabs his shopping off the passenger seat and slips out of the car, buttoning up his pea coat to ward off the icy winter chill in the process. He probably should’ve stuck to the bag, or better, just gone for a damn run, because he can already see it – the look on Elizabeth’s face, and he don’t imagine she’s gonna be feeling tender enough to kiss it better when she’s in the middle of tryna Picture Perfect their life for two sets of mother’s-in-law.

Old snow covers their backyard, growing mushy in the corners, brown from where the kids have walked dirty boots and sneakers through it, where they’ve scraped up handfuls of ice to stick down the back of each other’s coats, and pulled together an already-half-melted-snowman. While he’s looking at it, the carrot nose slides down an inch, and he’s thinkin’ about whether or not to reset the thing when the front door cracks open and Ruby steps out, and - - huh, he thinks, checking his watch.

Wasn’t she supposed to be gone an hour ago?

“Everything a’ight?”

He can see it clear enough that it ain’t. Can see it in the way the woman’s shoulders are set and her expression wound tight, and then can see it even clearer in the way she sucks in a breath at the sight of him before she makes her way over, her bright pink beanie and sea green coat a lick of vibrant colour against the frost.

“Oh it’s _great,_ ” Ruby bites as she gets close, and shit, okay. Rio’s jaw tightens as he buries his bruised hands into the pockets of his jacket, the shopping bags twisting at his wrist. This is just what he fucking needs. “Great, because I am _done._ I am going home, because Stan’s parents get into town to _night,_ and I’ve got enough on my own plate to have to deal with the stuff she’s loading up hers with.”

And it figures, Rio thinks, pursing his lips and glancing sideways at the house. With the curtains open, he can see into the living room – the flames spitting in the fireplace, swallowing up blackening logs, can see flumes of smoke, escaping up the open mouth of the chimney, can see the cheap tinsel flaking scraps of metallic red and green from where it’s draped across the bookshelves. Danny’s wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, his cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room, iPad in his lap, and then - - Jane leaps onto the far arm of it, hands curled into little beastly fists, startling the kid, and shit, Rio really needs to work on that with him, because Jane ain’t quiet enough to be surprising anybody.

Still.

He wets his lips, waits for Elizabeth to round a corner, tell her daughter off, but she doesn’t. Doesn’t even when Danny and Jane start bickering, and Rio sucks on his teeth again, because he _knows_ it’s about her – about Elizabeth’s dumbass ex’s mother and whatever the fuck it is Elizabeth feels like she’s gotta prove – and before he can help himself, he’s saying:

“She loadin’ up her plate with more of his family then or what?”

As he asks it, there’s a flash of gold behind them, and Rio turns with Ruby to the familiar sight of Stan’s car on the street, the headlights dimming as he slows to a stop.

“I guess she finally told you about Judith then.”

Ruby says it with a snort, and Rio has to stop his brow from furrowing as he turns back to look at her again. To catch her throw a hand out in the direction of Stan’s car, a finger up – _one minute_ – and Rio’s own aching fingers curl in his pockets.

As if on cue, a wind picks up and slices through them, damp with new snow, holding fast at where his earlobes are sticking out from under his beanie, clutching at his nose, stinging the bruise at his cheek, and it’s gotta be hittin’ her too. Sees it in the way Ruby shivers, the way she shifts her weight, shrugs her bag up over her shoulder, the knock of plastic sounding in it telling him Elizabeth’s sending her home with some of whatever it is she’s been making all day. His eyes dart over Ruby’s distracted look, like she’s figuring out how to say goodbye, and he doesn’t know what it is about her in the moment, but Rio looks at her and he hears:

 _Finally_. 

With a hum, he squints, swallowing the instant irritation and deliberating his next words.

“She musta been chewin’ your ear off about it for a while, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Ruby groans, rolling her eyes in somethin’ between affection and exasperation, and Rio nods easily down at her, not taking his eyes off her face.

“Guess you ladies didn’t just run into Judith at the mall the other day then.”

And it’s loud – the way Ruby starts to scoff, only to stop herself. For her eyes to flick back to Rio and fuck, it’s almost too easy sometimes. Reminds him of the old days – givin’ them each a loaded gun just to watch them shoot themselves in the foot. Her gaze takes him in, and he sees that too – the moment she realises she just gave Elizabeth away. That invitin’ Judith wasn’t anything sudden, and he could ask her right now _when,_ could ask her _how,_ but he knows none of it really matters. The only thing that does is - -

“She didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Thought you were done,” Rio hums, and on the street, oblivious, Stan flashes his lights again – just checkin’ in. Rio nods over at him, but he doubts the guy can see, not with the low winter fog starting its evening bleed, and Rio wonders if Dags is at the kid’s house yet. If he took his gun, or his knife. He wonders if Aida’s home or at their mom’s place. He wonders what Elizabeth’s doin’ in that big kitchen of theirs, and how the lie tasted the other night on her tongue.

“You know what she’s like.”

The words come sharp through the cold air, and Rio’s attention snaps back to Ruby, as surprised as he ain’t surprised at all to see her face harder, surer, and the exasperation’s gone, but only to be replaced by some deeper-tapped _pissed off_.

“You know what she’s like, so you know why she didn’t tell you.”

Rolling his eyes, Rio nods, little more than a sharp jerk of his chin, because she ain’t wrong, but that don’t make it right and don’t do much to quell his irritation neither. He scuffs the toe of his shoe in the snow, drops his gaze to watch the line it makes, and he hears it more than sees it – the way Ruby shifts her weight.

The way she softens.

“The holidays really don’t help,” she adds. “Anyone who says it’s a time to relax is a liar. Like I’m seriously about to spend two days making an espresso martini layer cake because I made the mistake of making it for Stanley’s mother twenty years ago when I was still trying to impress her, and now she thinks it’s a tradition. And even though it takes _for_ -ever to make and shaves months off my life each Christmas, I’ve still made that damn cake for her every year. We all have our things.” 

The memory of Aida’s wounded face flashes in his head, and he exhales harshly, because - - fuck. Maybe they do. He pulls a hand from his pocket, drops it to the top of his beanie, pushing it further down his ears with a sniff, while Ruby watches him – careful and protective and all those things she’s been since Rio shacked up with Elizabeth, and probably before. Rio ain’t sure. The thought makes him consider her again, and tug back the reins of the conversation.

“Cake sounds pretty good. Didn’t realise that sorta shit was on the table when you were tryna impress me.”

This time it’s Ruby who snorts.

“Hate to break it to you, but _I_ was never the one trying to impress you.”

There’s somethin’ in it that throws him back – reminds him of another cold night, too long ago, with Elizabeth pitchin’ for a bigger drop, her sharp little nose in the air like it ain’t no big thing, like she _was_. Remembers her girls angry and unsure, but nothin’ more than the flick of somethin’ inside him. The thing that had him sending Dags to load up her mama van, the thing that said he didn’t know what the fuck this thing with her was, but damn if he didn’t want to see where it went.

Rio blinks slowly, gaze slipping back to the house, and he can’t explain it – the way that flick of somethin’ in him is felt anew, but it doesn’t spark and spit.

Nah, it just burns.

Steady.

Deep.

Really fuckin’ warm.

What does it matter if her ex’s mom is at the table on Christmas Day? It’s his house Elizabeth’s livin’ in.

His bed she sleeps, fucks, wraps presents for _his_ mother in.

It’s him she promises to make it up to, her voice too fuckin’ sweet and her hand soft as it slips low.

Rio rolls his shoulders back, gaze dipping back to Ruby, jerking his head back to Stan’s car in silent invitation.

“Merry Christmas, yeah? We gonna be seein’ you for new year’s?”

“You will,” Ruby replies. “Or at least whatever’s left of me after Stan’s parents leave. Merry Christmas.”

Before she moves too far though, she turns back around, pointing a finger at the house.

“Good luck with that one, and oh, put some ice on that shiner, Rocky.”

Rio pops an eyebrow at her, works his jaw, and it’s like he said.

These days he’s got too many people noticing.

* * *

It’s something warm that finds his nose as he slips in through the front door.

Something thick with butter and sugar, vanilla and cream. Something that blankets the smells that don’t place quite so easy, quite so fast – the reedy scent of stewed pears, the slightly sour one of currants, and shit - - all those good ones that remind him of his ma’s place – cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and chocolate. Smells that have him inhaling deep as he sets the lock on the front door, shutting away the Jack Frost fingers of the cold. 

Drying the snow off his shoes on the mat in the foyer, Rio trains an ear down the hall to where he can hear Elizabeth and her sister in the kitchen – the bray of Annie’s laugh loud over the bang of the oven door, the annoyed, frazzled tone to Elizabeth’s bell voice – and he wonders how long they’ve been at it. Wonders how long she’s planning on _keepin’_ at it.

Before he can think much else though, a flash of colour meets the corner of his eye. Looking up, it’s to catch Jane hanging off the back of the couch, just enough to stick her head through the open arch of the living room – the bright pink ears of her bunny rabbit onesie floppin’ down past her neck as she eyes off the bags on his arm.

“Presents for me?”

“None you gettin’ today,” he replies easily, adjusting his grip on the bags enough to throw them over his shoulder, and he can’t quite bite back the grin when she pouts.

The sound of his voice must trigger somethin’ in the house, because it sparks a flurry of movement. He hears Elizabeth pick up the pace in the kitchen (and she can’t seriously have _not_ heard him set the alarm) and Annie tellin’ her to _stop freaking out_ , and Kenny’s yellin’ out a blind _mom, is Rio home?_ from somewhere in the house, and then there’s the rapid sound of feet down the stairs and Emma’s materialising in front of him, breathless, with her long, dark hair braided back.

“Od, I drew you a picture while you were out.”

A piece of paper is thrust up into Rio’s line of vision, and shit, okay, he thinks, glancing up towards the kitchen in time to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth’s golden hair and her bright red ‘We Whisk You a Merry Christmas’ apron before he drops his gaze back to Emma’s drawing. All in all, it ain’t bad – knows it’s him from the tattoo on his neck, that it’s Elizabeth from the blue eyes, and they’re all smiles, holdin’ hands around a rope, which is attached to - -

Rio resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

“That’s Princess Peppermint,” Emma says, pointing to the horse, and Rio hums, not lookin’ back as he hears Jane snicker on the couch. “And that’s you and that’s mommy giving her to me as the best Christmas present ever.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yup,” Emma replies, all fuckin’ sugar, just like her mama, and Rio passes her back the drawing only to scoop her up instead, amusement twitching at his lips when she squeals and clings to his shoulder. 

“Yeah, see, I remember us havin’ a conversation about not havin’ the room for a horse.”

“It could live in the backyard,” Emma tells him easily, her leg bouncing against his thigh as he starts to walk them down the hall towards the kitchen. He pauses as he passes the couch, just long enough to flick Jane’s hood back over her head, grinning at her squawk, and waving a hello to a quiet Danny in the process, before turning his attention back to Emma.

“You don’t think it’d be too cold for her out there, darlin’?”

“We could make a stable, and - - ” 

Suddenly, Emma gasps, and Rio blinks back around to where her little hand is inchin’ towards his mouth. 

“Od! You have blood on your lip!”

_Too many people._

Grabbing her hand with his free one, he plants a kiss on her knuckles (careful to avoid his split lip), and drops her hand back to his shoulder, moving his other arm beneath her so she’s sitting on his forearms and hoisting her up his hip.

“Yeah, I just bit it,” he offers easily, squinting a little at Emma as he ducks them into the kitchen, jerking his head sideways towards where he knows Elizabeth’s gonna be. “You think your mama’s gonna kiss it better for me?”

Just like that, she’s gigglin’ again, the sound loud and tinkling among the clutter and chaos of the kitchen, and there’s that good burn in his chest again. The one that swallows up thoughts of Aida, of Ruby, of that big fuck at Frank’s gym, and leaves behind the warmth of the oven roaring and the feel of Elizabeth a few feet away, and shit, why’s he getting worked up over bullshit when he’s got this waiting for him at home?

And damn, it’s a nice thought, it _is_ , until Annie’s mindless chatter stops and his eyes lock with Elizabeth’s across the kitchen, and it’s too obvious. When that Bambi gaze of hers _dips._

Cheekbone.

Lip.

The one hand she can see holding her daughter to him.

Fuck.

A’ight.

Emma presses a clammy little finger to his cheek.

“You gonna kiss od better, mommy?”

And okay, maybe it ain’t his best lead in, because Elizabeth’s normally full lips thin to somethin’ like a slit, her eyes narrowing at him, as she turns back to the fridge behind her and pulls out a ball of pastry dough.

“Maybe if he asks nicely,” Elizabeth sing-songs back, but he hears the threat under it well enough that he better fuckin’ not. Rio exhales, pulling his arm out from under Emma to dump his shopping on one of the kitchen stools beside Annie, glaring at her when she blatantly tries to peer inside one of the bags. Before he can help it, he’s looking back out across the island – taking in the mess and damn, the still-crusty mixing bowls, licked spoons, pools of milk would be one thing, but it ain’t just the sprawl of Elizabeth’s feast-making that has him arching an eyebrow. Nah, it’s the six meticulously laid out sheets of paper, covered in colour coded notes, tiny illustrations – instructions for cake assembly he’s guessin’ from the arrows – the numbered, neatly ruled timeline that takes ‘em from 3pm today to 8pm Christmas evening.

Hiking Emma further up his hip, his gaze slides sideways to where Elizabeth’s somehow found enough space to start rolling out sheets of homemade pasty.

“What’s all this?”

“The Beth Boland Holiday Experience” Annie hums, a spoon of cake mix in her mouth as she swings on her stool behind the kitchen island, and something in him tightens at the words, and it’s nothin’, it ain’t – but also, shit - -

“Mami, we ain’t even gonna be here most of tomorrow.”

“I’ve got a few set-and-forget dishes which’ll cook while we’re out,” Elizabeth replies easily, grabbing the pastry wheel to start slicing, and Rio works his jaw, feeling Emma lower her head to his shoulder, her drawing crinkling at his chest.

“Elizabeth, we - - ”

But before he can say a damn word, Elizabeth’s gaze is back on him, hard and fuck, she really is pissed about his face, can see it in her still-tight mouth, and he rolls his eyes at her, shoving his tongue into his lower lip, ignoring the sting where it’s split, but she don’t break eye contact as she grabs a handful of flour to sprinkle over her pastry. Annie’s gaze darts between them.

“Do you know what your mom’s bringing tomorrow night?” Elizabeth asks. “I’d like to pencil that into the schedule.” 

“She’s bringin’ the ingredients for her tamales. She wants to teach your kids how to make ‘em.”

At the words, Emma perks up in his arms, lifting her head off his shoulder to look at him, and Rio tilts his head back to meet her.

“You wanna learn that, huh?”

It’s almost too damn sweet, her shy little smile, and something in Rio loosens when she nods. 

“Do you think Judith’s ever had a tamale?” Annie asks, and fuck if that don’t snap his attention back to her. “All I’m saying is that that lady complains about too much salt on fries, so her palette’s - - you know. Bland enough to create someone like Deansy.”

It’s instant then – the way he feels Emma tense in his arms, the way he sees Elizabeth’s head jerk up, a glare furious on her face as she gestures with an elbow towards Rio and Emma. Annie winces apologetically.

“Not that good taste is genetic. If it was, you’d like _way_ cooler stuff,” she says too loudly, and Rio rolls his eyes, lowering Emma to the floor.

“You wanna pick a movie before your brothers do?”

Emma nods, but she lingers, twisting back and forth on the spot, drawing clutched to her chest as she gnaws on her bottom lip before she says:

“What do you wanna watch?”

Her voice is small, like she doesn’t want her mom or aunt hearin’ her, and Rio blinks, watching her start to play with her braid.

“I don’t mind, darlin’.”

“I wanna watch whatever you wanna watch.”

And she says that loud enough at least to catch Elizabeth’s ear, because suddenly she’s staring at them both, unblinkin’, flour drying on her cheek.

“Since when?” she asks, brightening her tone in a way he knows she don’t mean. “Haven’t you been talking about _Nutcracker and the Four Realms_ all day?”

Emma looks back at her mother with wide, betrayed eyes, and Rio interjects, says:

“Yeah? That’s funny, coz that’s just what I feel like too.”

Which - - fuck.

At least it ain’t _Minions_ again.

And hell, it’s worth it to see Emma’s face brighten, her smile wide as she scurries outta the room into the hall, callin’ out to her siblings as she goes.

“That was weird,” Annie says, swinging back on her stool. “She’s literally been talking about that movie all afternoon.”

Elizabeth shakes her head, eyes darting over Rio’s face again – latching onto the bruise, the split lip – before fixing back on her pastry. She sighs.

“I think it’s about Dean,” she says glumly, and Rio turns to look at her properly, and he sees it, the moment she tenses up, like she always does when he comes up. “It’s fine,” she adds quickly. “All she needs is a bit more quiet time and then a good night’s sleep, and she’ll feel better.”

“She ain’t the only one, huh?” Rio hums, gesturing with a jerk of his chin to her spread. “You don’t think you goin’ overboard with all of this?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets it, and if he didn’t, Annie frantically shaking her head out of her sister’s line of sight would be enough to make him.

“Sure. I’ll get right on that,” Elizabeth’s voice is sharp now, all traces of anything but annoyance leached from her tone. “When do you think I should pencil my quiet time in? Tonight? My _one_ night to get ahead of two days of entertaining _your_ family? Or maybe just before we spend three hours with _your mother_ at _church_ tomorrow, with your face all - - ”

She jabs at the air towards him with the pastry cutter, cheeks flushed, and her voice hoarse.

“- - _Messed up_?”

Huffing out a breath, Rio knows his nostrils are flaring, because shit, it ain’t what he meant (or maybe it was, whatever), and all that anger he’d let loose at the ring, in the front yard with her friend, burns up his belly again, and it must pulse between them because he can feel Annie looking between them, a nervous laugh escaping her throat.

“Coooool, so I think I’m going to help Emma load up the movie.”

With that, she slips out of the kitchen, leaving Rio and Elizabeth alone.

For a moment, neither of them move. Just stand there in their kitchen, the smell of pastry and ginger and sickly sweet strawberry syrup weighing down the air between them, and he can see Elizabeth’s grip’s gone white knuckled around the pastry cutter. Knows the only reason his own ain’t as tight is because of the ache in them. Feels it instead in his jaw, his back, and there’s too many words on the tip of his tongue – everything Aida didn’t give him the chance to say, everything _Elizabeth_ didn’t - - _doesn’t_ \- - whatever, and he just - -

The pastry cutter drops to the counter with a clatter as Elizabeth rounds the counter towards him, her attention fixed even as her gaze jumps from bruise to bruise to cut. She inhales a shaky breath when she comes to stop in front of him, raising a hand to stroke a too-soft thumb at his cheekbone.

Rio sucks in a breath.

“Who?”

The word is small but firm, unshaken for every inch of her that’s tremblin’ with exhaustion and anger and worry, and Rio exhales, lifting a hand to cup the back of her own, flattening her palm to his cheek before entwining their fingers and dropping them down, away from his face, before releasing it altogether.

“It ain’t like that,” he tells her, shaking his head, and she’s too close. Can’t think with her this close. He takes a step back, strides towards the fridge to get a drink just for something to do. “I went to Frank’s.”

“You were supposed to be shopping with your sister.”

“I was,” he says, pulling a bottle of sparkling water out, twisting the cap. “And then I wasn’t. It ain’t nothin’.”

From the other room, he can hear Kenny yell and Annie laugh, that loud one that he likes best from a distance. He can hear the score of the startin’ Disney title card, and Emma tellin’ the others to be quiet, that they gotta wait, and then Annie tellin’ her _they’ll catch up_ , and it’s almost enough to make him slip out, to leave Elizabeth here behind him, the conversation finished, but he looks at her, and just - -

Shit.

“Dags is handlin’ Bobby.”

It ain’t what he meant to say – fuck, what _did_ he mean to say? Tell her about Aida? Nah, but he shoulda had _somethin’_ – but it gets Elizabeth’s throat constricting, her gaze darting across his face again, and she steps forwards, then back again, smoothing her hands down the waist of her gaudy fuckin’ apron.

“When?”

And well – since he’s bein’ honest.

“Tonight.”

He can hear her swallow even over the chatter and the movie in the other room, see her nod a little as she rounds the kitchen island again, away from him this time, busying her hands with the pastry still rolled out on the bench, and when she asks, she asks it instead of him.

“How?”

“Yeah,” Rio says slowly, squinting at her. “That ain’t somethin’ you need to know.”

And fuck, she had to know that’s what he was going to say – had to know that that was the answer waitin’ for her, but her head snaps up anyway, the look on her face just too fuckin’ naked, and just like she _had_ to know, Rio knows exactly what’s on her tongue. He shakes his head, nostrils flared in annoyance.

“Nah, don’t play. He knew what would happen, mami. Ain’t on us that he didn’t take this shit seriously.”

“He mouthed off,” she hisses, voice low so the kids – her sister – don’t hear. “Because he’s a _child._ He messed up.”

“He put our business at risk. Put _us_ at risk.”

Because fuck, he _did_. He coulda been skatin’, but instead he got himself arrested, got the car with their product impounded, and he shouldn’t have to tell her that losin’ your head is the fastest way to get a bullet in it. Especially when it puts them and theirs - - him and _his_ at risk. Still, Elizabeth glares up at him, says:

“I know that.”

“Yeah? Then why you playin’ like all he needs is time out?”

“I’m not, I - - ” she inhales again, flails her hand at him, before saying: “Why won’t you tell me how Dags is handling him?”

“Because,” he repeats, voice lower and terser this time, the elastic of his patience pulled. “It ain’t your department.”

It’s loud – the sound of her hands slamming down on the counter, her cheeks red, her shoulders tight as she stares furiously back at him.

“When you come home with a face like that, it _makes_ it my department.”

And shit, Rio thinks, scoffing, sneering at her.

“My face ain’t got nothin’ to do with Lil’ Bobby Acker.”

Behind her, the timer on the oven trills, but Elizabeth doesn’t pay it any mind. Nah, her gaze stays on him her forehead furrowed, her blue eyes suddenly uncertain, and Rio feels something he can’t name twist in his gut.

“Then - - what - - did something happen with your sister?”

And okay, they ain’t goin’ there.

He wets his lips, softening his look as he glances back up at her.

“Why’d you lie about invitin’ your dumbass ex’s mom to Christmas?”

It works like he knew it would – Elizabeth’s mouth slams shut, but any smugness he should be feeling don’t eventuate. Instead, they just stare at each other across the half-empty mixing bowls and the flour and the pastry, her face as carefully blank as he knows his is, and shit, he thought he’d figured this out in the yard, because it doesn’t _matter,_ but she just _pushes_ and in his head he hears Aida’s _someone like you_ and he hears Ruby’s _finally_ and he hears Annie’s _Beth Boland Holiday Experience_ and something in him tightens so hard that he has to work his jaw to loosen it, and - -

Suddenly there are groans from the living room, the stutter-stop of the TV, and it’s Kenny calling out:

“Mom, I think the wi-fi’s busted!”

And then Elizabeth’s waving at him, sniffing, saying: “Can you go fix that? I need to finish this for the party tomorrow.”

And fine, Rio thinks, it’s - -

Fine.

* * *

And it is over dinner, even with them both stiff and silent, and it is when his mom drops Marcus off from the evening Las Posadas with his cousins, and all the kids gather round to hear about it, and it is when they put the kids to bed, when they shower one after the other, and it is when he slips beneath the sheets beside her, her body curved like _Flaming June_ , hair off her neck and her arm twisted beneath her head. It is when he gives her distance and she curls into him instead, and it’s more than fine when she takes his hand, runs the too soft pad of her thumb over his bruised knuckles, and she don’t kiss it better, but when she presses his hand to her breast, entangles their legs beneath the sheets, and says:

“You’re right, I probably could use a good night’s sleep,” it feels like an apology, and he hopes she tastes the same on his lips when he kisses her.

* * *

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

_FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF._

The sound of the central heating roaring to life echoes loud in Rio’s tired skull, and he groans, pushing his head back into the pillows and twisting up the bed, the duvet slipping down his bare chest. He can feel it more than anything – the way the cold winter air brushes his skin, smarts at the bruise on his ribs, but then, just as quick – warms again. Not from the heater, nah, he thinks, as soft curves press into his side, fingers warm from being balled up beneath a pillow ghosting over his belly, stroking gently through the fine trail of hair just below his navel.

“Hmmm,” he hums, his voice low and gravelly, peeling open his eyes in time to see Elizabeth close her own, her breath stuttering against his chest. He drops his chin. Enough that his nose brushes the crown of her head and he can smell geranium-scented shampoo and her rosehip face cream and that smell underneath it all that’s just her, and he inhales deeply. Let’s her fill his senses as his lashes flutter shut. 

“Thought we didn’t have time to sleep in. All your plans and whatnot.”

And shit, he don’t mean it as a jab – don’t want her to take it as one – but it’s a minute before she replies, maybe two, her too-soft fingers still stroking over his abdomen, then a little lower, running the back of her nails just-so through the wiry hair that starts there. He shivers despite himself, and when he feels Elizabeth curl her face into his chest – the wet press of her lips ghosting into a grin there – he knows where her hand’s goin’ next.

Still, he can’t help the pleased noise in the back of his throat when her fingers circle his cock.

“We really don’t,” she tells him, voice still a little rough with sleep, and he feels his cock twitch in her hand, feels himself inhale, pushing his head low until his nose brushes her ear, lets his breath spill down her cheek, her neck, in that way that makes her squirm. “Maybe I should stop?”

At the words, Rio pulls her hand off him and tips them easily, throwing a leg over her hip, a slightly-feral grin finding his face as he comes onto all fours over her – a hand at either shoulder, a knee at either hip – the satin of her pyjama pants silky at his bare legs, and he thinks it might be his favourite place to be as he lets his eyes drift down her body.

It don’t matter that she’s dressed, not really. Not ever, but especially not like this. Not when she’s lookin’ up at him, her blue eyes darker than they have any right to be, her pupils blown, a flush at her cheeks, nose, sprawling down the neck of her button-up shirt, her breasts round and heavy, straining against the satin. Rio wets his lips.

“We really do need to make it quick,” she tells him, and he feels it before he sees it – her hand coming back to his cock, fingers curling around him – and he pops an eyebrow as she paints a serious look on her face. “I need to get the chicken in the marinade, and we’ve got to get all the good China out of storage. It can’t go in the dishwasher, so we’ll need to do that by hand before tonight too.”

Rio blinks slowly, lips parting as Elizabeth starts to stroke him, her delicate hand warm, soft, tightening just a bit. His head falls forwards at the motion, watching as her breasts move when her arm does, her nipples pebbled beneath her shirt now, and he’s thinking about leaning forwards, biting one through the fabric, when she adds:

“What time are we meeting your mother at Sainte Anne’s again?”

Which - - Rio jerks his head up away from Elizabeth’s breasts and she ain’t even lookin’ at him. Nah, instead, she’s fixed sideways on the clock on her bedside table, and Rio feels a flare of annoyance because _no_ , okay, she don’t get to start this and - -

He growls, batting her hand away from his cock again and grabbing her wrist and then her other one, pinning them above her head in one hand, and it’s somethin’ – having her full attention again, her blue eyes round. Then it’s too easy to sink his hips down, moving his hand to his cock until it’s pressed between her spread legs.

“Yeah, maybe don’t bring all that up when we’re here,” he hums, and Elizabeth bites her lip, wrinkles her nose in apology. He rocks his hips one more time, pressing his cock against her cunt before leaning down to kiss her, and fuck, he doesn’t know how he can like it so much – the mothy taste of her morning breath, the little rough spot where her lip’s chapped, the sharp point of her little canine – don’t know how that can feel so right against his own lips, his own tongue, and he drops her wrists when she nips at his lower lip, teeth catching on the cut, and figures, he thinks, the sting of it making him grin as he deepens the kiss, grinding his hips down against hers so she can feel the heat between her legs, so he can feel her big, soft breasts against his chest.

He leans his head back, just enough to look down at her, see her already wrecked, panting up at him, and shit, he knows he ain’t any better.

“You gonna take that off?” he asks, voice low jerking his chin down to her shirt, and he loves the way that her hands flounder before they make awkward work on her buttons, her gaze fixed on him now, watching him watch her reveal inch after inch of skin to him, and fuck. She’s barely undone three before his lips are on her neck, and she’s keening underneath him, hips rocking up into his, head tossed back as he sucks hickeys against her clavicle, lower, between her breasts, finally batting her hands away to yank the last of her shirt open.

Buttons tear off across the bed, but neither of them care. Fuck, how could he? When the pink peaks of her breasts are right there, and it’s all he can do to hike her leg up around his hip, press his cock against her and suck a nipple into his mouth. One of her hands is pinching at his neck now, but her hips are workin’ in weird motions, her legs scrambling, and it takes him a minute to realise her other hand is tryna push her pants off without letting go of him and fuck, he thinks, he wants to be inside her, wants to feel her so deep that her cunt clenches around the very base of his cock, that the soft swell of her ass is pressed against his hips as he fucks into her. Wants her wet and warm and tight around him in that way he ain’t ever been able to get enough of.

The promise of it leaves him sucking a hickey low between her breasts, in a place he knows her bra will rub, knows she’ll feel today, tomorrow, and then he nips lower, lower, hooking a tooth briefly into the bottom rim of her belly button, just to feel her hips spasm at his shoulders, and then lower again. He pulls her pyjama pants down, her panties, leaving her naked underneath him and shit, he thinks, looking at her, like this, all the bullshit of yesterday feels so far away.

This? Here? They’ve always made sense.

He dips his head and before he can even get his mouth on her properly her hands are at the back of his head, scrambling there for purchase, unable to get it in his short hair and clinging to one of his ear’s instead as she rolls her pelvis towards his mouth. The heat fuckin’ _oozes_ off her, and it’s too easy to lean in – to feel the downy touch of her pubic hair against his nose as he licks his way to her cunt. 

It’s his favourite sound – the one that escapes her lips – something high pitched and breathless, and then one of her hands is gone from the back of his head, and Rio don’t even gotta look to know she’s coverin’ her mouth. The image of it makes him grin as he noses up her slit, brushes the point of his tooth against her clit like she did to his split lip, and then _sucks._

Her leg kicks, ass writhin’ back in the bed as her smothered cries sound above him, and he wonders if he can break his record for how many times he’s made her come like this. If he can unstitch her entirely as he presses his cock down into the mattress, seeking friction. Elizabeth keens again, wriggles, and he comes up just enough to suck in a breath, bite hard at the soft skin of her inner thigh before he tosses both legs over his shoulders and grabs her ass instead, lifting her up enough to hold her to his mouth as he leans back in, feels her trembling now in earnest as he licks his way back to her clit, sliding a hand down the crease of her ass, brushing her asshole lightly as he passes it before slipping a long finger slowly into her wet, slick cunt.

She clenches.

_Hard._

Rio laughs, breathless, mouth wet with her, sated with the taste of her, and she tugs at his ear in annoyance – an order to hurry up – and nah, he thinks, because shit, the memory of yesterday comes back too quick and if he can’t get her to slow down out there, he can do it at least in here, and he’s already thinking of how he’s gonna fuck her. If he can leave her on the bed long enough to get one of his ties, his belts, what it would take to convince her to cancel their plans, and vaguely he’s aware of the tinkling music of Elizabeth’s alarm, of the lap of the winter sun through the window, but he can’t feel anything more than Elizabeth’s wet cunt at his tongue and the feel of her soft, quivering thighs at his ears and he can feel her getting close, can feel her breaths coming shorter, wetter, can feel her pussy clenching around his finger and her hips stuttering as she rocks against his face and - -

A strangled, laughing yelp echoes through the room, and then Elizabeth’s surging up, her stomach hitting the top of Rio’s head and her thighs clenching so much he thinks she’s about to break his neck – smothered in the folds of her – and then Elizabeth’s making a noise he ain’t ever heard her make before (or at least he thinks she is – fuck, he can’t hear much with her thighs clenched around his ears and his mouth smothered by her pussy). 

“Oh my GOD, get OUT, Annie, I’m serious! Get OUT!”

The laughter’s louder now, and Elizabeth’s throwing a pillow at the closing door, while Rio’s somehow managed to prise Elizabeth’s legs apart again to free his aching neck. He grabs her beneath the knees, tossing her up the bed, gasping a little for breath before he manages to look at her, and - - shit. She’s _fuchsia,_ somehow having managed to gather her shirt back around herself, and rolling sideways to the very edge of the bed, eyes clenched shut, away from both him and the door.

Leaning back on his haunches on the bed, Rio just watches her for a minute, gatherin’ himself up, and damn, he can’t help it. So they were interrupted, whatever – the smell of her pussy is heavy in the air, taste still thick on his tongue, and he can see how wet the insides of her thighs are, and his cock’s still hard, because shit, how could it not be? He crawls up the bed towards her, palms at her hip, tries pushing her onto her back.

“’Ey, c’mon, mami,” he starts, but before he can finish, Elizabeth flails out of his grip, rolling off the bed to glare at him, which don’t entirely work when she’s still the colour of a bell pepper, wearin’ nothin’ but a now-buttonless pyjama shirt.

“ _No,_ ” she bites, stomping off towards their en suite, and Rio flops onto his back in their bed, groaning in annoyance, and he glowers at the space she left behind only to catch a glimpse of mint green, and huh, he thinks. Untangling her panties from her forgotten pyjama pants, grinning when he feels them soaked through, entwining them in his fingers as he starts to stroke his cock.

It’ll do in a pinch.

* * *

Dropping his hands back into the sink, Rio grabs the sponge, squeezing it until the water and detergent spill past his fingers, the soap stinging the bruises on his knuckles. Picking up a dusty plate with his other hand, he makes quick work of wiping it, passing it to Annie, who takes it with the same fuckin’ look she’s been levellin’ at him since he came downstairs.

“So, on a scale of - - ”

“ _Annie,_ ” Elizabeth hisses from where she’s crushing freeze-dried raspberries at the kitchen island, and shit, Rio can’t help but laugh as Annie blinks wild, too-innocent eyes back at her.

“What? You don’t know what I was going to say!”

He can’t exactly help himself from glancing around to catch Elizabeth’s furious glare in response, and he swallows his amusement as best he can as he turns back to see Annie staring at him, her short hair a mess and her sweatpants covering her toes. She leans in a little, drying the plate (or - - fuck, more movin’ water around on it, given how wet the damn cloth she’s holding is), and says:

“It would’ve been complimentary, just so you know.”

With a hum, Rio nods at her, reaching for another plate to wash. Behind them, he can hear Elizabeth furiously pulverising raspberries with her pestle (and fuck, maybe she’d be less strung up if she’d let him finish her off), and the kids all in the living room – Marcus loudly and elaborately tellin’ the rest of them what they can expect at the final Las Posadas celebration at Sainte Anne’s, tellin’ them about his wise man costume while Kenny keeps skippin’ through any Christmas carol released before 2019 on the family playlist, smashing together the opening bars of a hundred different songs like some shitty club DJ, and fuck, Rio inhales, a headache starting to pulse behind his bruised eye.

“You comin’ today?” he asks, and Annie clicks her tongue, dropping the plate to the dishrack.

“Sorry, hermano. I would’ve been the first in line, but y’know, I don’t think the unwed teen Jewish mom thing jives with the big guy upstairs. Or maybe he’s cool with it, and it’s the big guy with the funny hat who has the issues? I don’t know. Point is, no church for me, but you and Bee both get to benefit with my hours of unpaid labour instead.”

Behind them, Elizabeth snorts.

“I’m putting everything on before we go. You’re literally just making sure the house doesn’t burn down.”

Annie fake gasps, leans into Rio conspiratorially.

“One day we’ll unionize, then she’ll be sorry.” 

Arching an eyebrow, Rio passes her another plate, and he can’t exactly explain it – the way somethin’ in him loosens at the thought that Annie’s not coming. It’s not that he don’t want her there – it’s _not_ , shit, he likes that Elizabeth and her have each other, that they’re close – but it’s good, he thinks. Elizabeth and her kids’ first Las Posadas _should_ just be with him. With his family, because - -

His cell buzzes in the back of his jeans, and Rio drops the sponge back in the sink to pull it out, jaw tightening when he sees Mick’s number.

“I gotta take this,” he says, and Elizabeth looks up at him from the kitchen island, her brow furrowed, but nods.

He steals upstairs to his office, out of sight and earshot of the kids, of Elizabeth and her sister, making sure the door is locked behind him as he perches on the edge of his hardwood desk and answers.

“Yeah?”

“Change of plans,” Mick tells him, and Rio works his mouth, wincing when the cut on his lip gapes at the movement. “Dags’ ex, her grandpa died last night. He had to go to Des Moines to meet her.”

Which - -

What?

Rio blinks.

“He need to pick up his kid?”

Mick’s quick to reply.

“Nah, he’s stayin’ with her. Don’t think they’re as done as he’s been saying. Point is, he didn’t handle Bobby.”

Rio inhales through his teeth – the taste of cedarwood and blood hitting his tongue. He adjusts his seat on his desk, legs stiff, because fuck, this was supposed to be _handled._

“Fuck.”

“It’s a’ight,” Mick says gruffly. “I’ll do it tonight. Just gotta find him.”

“He skip town?”

Mick makes a sound of affirmation, and shit, maybe the kid wasn’t as dumb as he seemed.

“A’ight.”

“I’ll keep you updated.” 

Rio hums in agreement, hanging up, and scratches his head, anger bubbling up through his chest. It ain’t anything that can be helped now, but - - fuck. Last thing he needs is to be checkin’ in on a hit during mass. The thought yanks the memory of Aida’s wounded look back to the surface, the tone of her voice when she said _someone like you_ and - - nah.

No.

He shakes his head, works his jaw, blinks hard.

Fine, he thinks.

It’s fine.

Gotta be, because ain’t no gettin’ outta today.

Pushing off the desk, Rio heads back downstairs, taking the stairs two at a time, the smell of cardamom from the kitchen meeting him before his feet hit the floor, and he thinks _finish the dishes,_ thinks _get the kids ready,_ thinks _go to church,_ but he’s still a few steps off the kitchen when Annie’s voice peels through.

“I just want to get a sense of like - - the _diversity_ of his skillset, because he looked _very_ good at that, but I mean, how does it compare to, say, his skills in - - more - - penetrative - - areas - - because he didn’t even look fully hard yet, and it was real big and maybe that’s _too_ big, so is it a compensation thing with the great head or - - ”

“Annie, I _swear_ \- -”

“Because I mean if it’s _all_ good, mazel, am I right? But - -”

“I am not having this conversation with you.”

And shit, Rio thinks with a snort, neither is he.

Not sure he has the energy for it now. Lingering in the hallway, Rio drops his work cell back into his pants and pulls out his personal one instead, scrolling through to Aida’s contact, flipping through the last messages he sent her, annoyance sparking when he sees the double-tick telling him she’s read ‘em, and just - -

Fuck.

He shoves it back into his other pocket, ignoring the sting at his scraped knuckles when he does. Pushing off the wall, he walks stiffly back towards the staircase, planning on going back up to his office, only to pause at the sight of the living room.

It’s the lights, that’s all.

They blink.

Those tiny yellow things glowin’ bright, all tangled up in the branches of the pine tree, refracting off the tinsel, the glitter and glass baubles, leaving everything glimmering, twinkling like fireflies in the woods. There’s just somethin’ about it, that’s all. Somethin’ warm that leaves the snow-dusted streets and the damp, frigid air behind. That locks out the tinny music of the shopping malls and the echoing expanse of the warehouse, and the sweat of Frank’s gym. That keeps Aida and Mick and Bobby and shit, Elizabeth’s ex in-law, somewhere far away. That closes the door on everything that ain’t Emma in her favourite pink tutu and _Moana_ hoodie, practicin’ pirouettes in front of the roaring fire. That ain’t Jane and Marcus guessing presents, or Danny sprawled on his belly on the rug, sketching reptiles into his drawing pad. 

Rio leans against the doorframe, just watching for a minute, feeling something in him unwind as he lets his gaze slide back to where Emma’s teeterin’ up on her toes, her fingers curled around one of her ankles, trying to hold her leg up in a prima ballerina pose, and it’s sudden then. 

The memory of last year.

Their first Christmas livin’ together, even if it wasn’t. 

Because the thing is, they’d known they weren’t gonna have the kids. It was Laura’s year to have Marcus, and Dean had really wanted his out at South Haven with him for the first Christmas post-divorce – had planned some whole thing with ice skating and a Santa Paws Pet Parade or some bullshit thing that had only half happened, and Elizabeth had it in her head that they had to do somethin’ before they saw the backs of all of them. Which was all good by Rio, really it was, just he hadn’t expected it when she’d bought seven tickets to _The Nutcracker_ ballet the week before Christmas. 

(“It’s something different,” Elizabeth had told him with a shrug, hands busy folding laundry, a pink tint to her cheeks. “And Emma’s ballet teacher gave the whole class this discount code.”)

And damn, ballet? Not Rio’s thing. A bunch of skinny bitches in tights prancing’ around on stage? Nah, but the tickets were paid for and Emma and Jane’s faces had both lit up when Elizabeth told ‘em, and he figured what the hell. He could spend a few hours sittin’ through a show since he wasn’t seeing any of them for Christmas, especially if he picked the restaurant for dinner beforehand (Elizabeth might’ve balked at the price, but she didn’t really have a leg to stand on in that fight, not with her buyin’ the damn tickets without talkin’ to him), and look. 

It ain’t like he had a transcendent experience, not like he left the theatre with some newfound love of the thing, but the music had swelled while the sugar plum fairy danced with her cavalier, their bodies weightless and fluid, and Rio had looked across the seats to find Elizabeth staring straight back at him, the stage lights glowing blue and gold across her soft features, her eyes hooded, her lashes thick. She’d smiled, something small and too honest, and he hadn’t known how long she’d been watching him watch the show, but when they’d gotten home, after they’d put the kids (still buzzin’, all of them) to bed, Elizabeth had kissed him so softly he’d been left blinking down at her in surprise. 

She hadn’t kissed him that softly since that first time in the bedroom of her old house. 

That’s all. 

And when he’d tried to ask her _why,_ she’d kissed him harder, and it wasn’t until after they’d made love, until after they were settled in their own bed, her head on his chest and her hand curled at his abdomen that she said: 

“I always wanted to see it, and D- - it just never happened. That’s why I bought the tickets. I don’t know why I didn’t just tell you that.” 

Rubbing a hand over his bruised knuckles, he steps forwards, moving to lean over the back of the couch, eyes shifting between the back of Kenny’s head and where Marcus has left Jane for Danny, and he glances sideways, expecting to see Jane getting ready to pounce, but somehow, in the minutes since he stepped in, Jane and Emma both are gone.

Before he can even really wonder about it though, he hears them behind him, their voices lowered and harsh, and he turns to find them on the staircase, whispering furiously to one another. He huffs out a breath, closing the distance between the living room and the staircase, dropping his hands to the bottom of the railing and calling up:

“Everything a’ight?”

Instantly, the girls spring apart – Jane’s shoulder hitting the wall behind her as Emma’s leg slips through the bannister, and Rio licks his teeth when Jane stares down at him, a hard look on her little face. It ain’t one he particularly likes, and when his brow furrows and he opens his mouth to speak, she turns and stomps the rest of the way up the stairs before he can, disappearing down the hallway into her room, while Kenny mutters something about _girls_ behind him on the couch.

Still – Emma makes a point to spin around, putting on a smile that ain’t meeting her eye while burying her hands in her Moana sweater and asking:

“Can you help me pick out my dress for Sainte Anne’s, od? I can’t decide.”

And he looks at her and tries to remember a time when Emma’s ever been this indecisive, and when he can’t think of one, he holds his hands up.

_Lead the way._

* * *

The service is a blur of lights and colour and touch and song. Of late morning sun pouring through stained glass and lighting up the chancel, the swell of the congregation warm below high ceilings as the men and women and children fill pews and clutch at candles. Of the priest’s lively sermon, of the burning frankincense and myrrh, of the low, echoing sound of the organ leading off-key hymns.

And fuck, Rio ain’t ever been a holy man, but there’s something in the moment of it that makes him feel hallowed – something about the flood to his senses that lets him forget about Bobby and Dags and Mick, Aida on the other end of the family, and the looks of the families he grew up with, who know who he is and what he does in every way Aida tries to forget, who see his split lip and bruised face and whisper.

And the feeling only grows watchin’ the children make their way down the nave to the nativity scene set up at the transept. To Carmen’s eldest son playing Joseph and the Delgado’s daughter, Mary, to his own son nestled between his other cousin and the Ruiz’ son as the wise men, and shit, he thinks, laughing a little, all of Elizabeth’s kids too, dressed up as Bethlehem townspeople, shuffling pink cheeked at the side of the scene, and Rio glances sideways to make sure Elizabeth sees it too, but she ain’t watchin’ them, she’s watching him, like she was last year at _The Nutcracker,_ like she’s committing this to her memory. Like it’s important on its own, like she wants to be a part of it, but like none of that’s as important as watchin’ him do it _,_ like he’s tellin’ her a secret somehow, and he remembers Aida’s words at the mall yesterday, and just - -

Should he have pushed her to do Chanukah? Should they have talked about it at least? What would he have seen watchin’ her do it?

What secrets would she have told him?

What would’ve been the ones he’d have heard, even if she hid them?

* * *

“Marcus, _stop!_ ”

And he ain’t gonna, Rio thinks with a snort, watching as his son bolts out across the parking lot, Jane and David on his heels, noisy in their puffer coats and snow boots, hollerin’ as they go. He knows what’s comin’ too, even before Aida springs after them, stretching out her strides to make giant monster steps, her face twisted up and a roar settled in the back of her throat.

It’s good, damn, he knows it is – to see her easy with the kids, but still. The sight of it makes him work his jaw, makes him take a sip of his beer.

She hadn’t talked to him at the service after all – not even when their mom got them linin’ up to take photos of the kids with their poinsettias, the artificial flowers big and red in their little hands, the flash of the camera lights bright enough to leave all the kids a little starry eyed.

Hadn’t talked to him after either, when they’d loaded up the minivan to head for the Las Posados celebration out back of the Delgado’s store (they did it in the parking lot every year after the service at Sainte Anne’s, emptying it of cars and pulling out brightly decorated paper lanterns and papel picado banners, outdoor heaters, trestle tables with lace cloths for food and kids crafts, the star-shaped pinatas, a Christmas tree the Ruiz’ would bring from their farm), or when they unpacked the kids either – although she’d been quick to help Elizabeth unpack her strawberry, ginger and honey pie, her white chocolate and cardamom tarts.

The thought makes his gaze slide sideways across the parking lot, across the mass of smilin’ people, the chatter and the music and the smell of brown sugar and cinnamon thick in the air already from the atole being served on the store steps. Let’s it keep slidin’ until it finds Elizabeth, pink cheeked from the cold or a feelin’ or both, he can’t tell, but she’s stiff as she serves a bowl of his mom’s menudo rojo, swallowing a little through an awkward smile as she passes it to one of the older women from the congregation and he should go over. Should help her out, but she hadn’t let him when they got here.

She’d told him she wanted to do it when his mom had pulled her away with Aida and Carmen, told him this is what she was here for, but - -

There’s a nudge at his arm then – somethin’ just a little pointed – and Rio turns to find his Carmen starin’ back at him, her sharp nose tipped red and her dark eyes round as bottlecaps.

“Gotta say,” she hums, her eyes bright as she takes a sip of her ponche. “I’m a little surprised you’re still here.”

He snorts, wets his lips, thumbs the label on his beer.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Putting aside the fact that you’ve always been an _after-_ the-after-party sorta guy, the way Aida was talking, I figured you were gonna burst into flames the second you walked through the doors.”

Rio snorts, gaze drifting back to where Aida’s got ahold of Marcus now, is swingin’ him around while Jane and David shriek, grabbing handfuls of mushy brown snow to fling at her.

From here, the afternoon feels bright and alive, the sounds of people laughing, the music of Luis Miguel and Juan Gabriel interspersed with Lil Nas X and Sza in that way he knows means the Delgado’s kids insisted on diversifyin’ their parents playlist. He can see Emma and Danny making luminarias at the craft table, and Kenny joking with a few of the kids his age by the speakers, but his eyes travel back to Elizabeth, always, at her still tight shoulders and uncomfortable look, as one of the Garcia women give her a once over. Rio runs his thumb over the label, resisting the urge to go over.

Instead, he gestures to Garcia with his beer. 

“Way those ladies been talkin’ about your divorce, you’d be burnin’ right there with me.”

It’s enough to stir a groan out of Carmen’s throat, which only makes Rio laugh, the sound easy as he watches his sister sway on the spot, scuff her boot against the cold wet concrete, and sigh. It ain’t like he’s lyin’ after all – the women at church are gossipin’ bitches at the best of times, but something about Carmen’s always set their noses outta joint.

“Aida thinks they’re jealous,” she says, as if she’s read his mind. “Reckons at least half of them want to leave the assholes they married, but those vows are all some of them got.”

Rio makes a noise of agreement, watching as Danny cuts a star into the paper bag of his luminaria before dropping in his battery-operated tea light candle, smiling shyly when Emma claps in delight. 

“You know if they’ve been giving mom a hard time?”

The question isn’t exactly a surprise, but Rio lets his gaze slide back to where their mother has found her way back to Elizabeth, and it’s somethin’, that’s all. The tension ain’t entirely gone from the set of her, but she’s a little easier at least. He knows they ain’t close or nothin’ – ain’t exactly in Elizabeth’s nature, he don’t think – but still. His mom is smiling, and Elizabeth’s talking, the flush to her cheek mellowed, her own grin a little less awkward.

“Between Aida and me? It ain’t nothin’ she wouldn’t have already been gettin’.”

Because ain’t that the truth? It don’t matter how much he keeps this part of his life separate, too many of these people have known him from when he was young and dumb and thought getting weight behind his name meant being known. Meant wearin’ bruises proud and throat tatts and showin’ up at nineteen with a car that said more than his damn arrest playin’ out on the 7pm news.

And shit - - Aida fingerbanging Josefina Olivera in the janitor’s closet at Sunday School ain’t exactly done much to curb their mom’s reputation as the maker of troublemakers. 

A cool breeze picks up between them, and Carmen shivers as Alicia Martin yelps, waving down one of the Delgado’s for another heater. They watch as she bounces foot to foot, before Jason Vargas edges closer, offering his coat with a toothy, hopeful grin. Rio takes another sip of his beer.

“She’s upset with you.”

“Yeah? She tell you that?”

He feels Carmen’s eyes on him, the unimpressed weight to her look.

“That how you want to play this?”

“I ain’t playin’ anything. She knows what I do, she just don’t like the reminder, that ain’t on me,” he says. “Besides, she had no problem with it when I helped her cover art school, or the down payment on her apartment.”

Carmen rolls her eyes.

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

“No? What is it then?”

They get a curious look from one of the dad’s in the corner, and Rio tilts his beer up in half an acknowledgement, scoffing when the guy turns up his nose, and Carmen picks up on it, taking a long drink of her ponche and swallowing hard.

“You offered her an opportunity to build herself a life. You can’t lord over her the fact that she took it just because she has an opinion about how you were able to offer it to her in the first place.”

“Why not? She ain’t ever been dumb to it. She knew where that money came from.”

Carmen exhales harshly, pissed off now, and good, he thinks, all the anger from yesterday reignited. So’s he.

“She say that she didn’t? She just hasn’t made peace with it, that’s all.”

“Well, she’s gotta.”

“No,” Carmen says, exasperated. “She doesn’t.”

Rio turns then, his mouth tightening to face her, staring down at her, and Carmen doesn’t rise to meet him, but she don’t waver either, and he wonders what it means – that she’s never been afraid of him.

“She made her choices, yeah, but she didn’t make yours,” Carmen tells him, and before Rio can scoff again, Carmen holds up her hand. “She’s allowed to feel some way about it, you can’t control that. You – doing what _you do_ – you didn’t just make the choice for yourself, you made it for all of us.”

The words settle uncomfortably in Rio’s head, leave him sniffing, rolling his shoulders back, thumbing the label of his beer.

“You got an issue with what I do?”

“More than one,” Carmen says easily, and Rio exhales, tryin’ to tamper his anger, but then she sighs, tugs her beanie down over her ears. “But I don’t know. When you were a kid, when you started down this path, I made my own choice, you know? Figured if I kept the door open, let you talk to me, come to me when you were hurt, at least I’d know. There’d be no surprises, but it doesn’t work that way, huh?”

Somewhere, he can hear crying, but it’s drowned out by the sound of Mariah Carey on the playlist, everyone singing along, dancing, and Carmen watches them, but Rio - - he just watches Carmen. Her face draws in, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet. 

“When we get the call at the hospital that we’ve got an incoming. ‘Unknown Latino Male’, shot, failing. I turn up in that surgical room and I hold my breath until I know it’s not you. You did that to me. You can’t pretend you didn’t. And you did it to Aida, and to mom, and you got a family of your own now, a big one. You can’t pretend you ain’t doin’ it to them too.”

Which - -

Nah, it - -

“It ain’t like that with Elizabeth,” he tells her, because it ain’t, because - -

“Bull. She could be elbows deep in this shit with you, and trust me, it’s the same for her.”

And it’s easy, the memory of her last night – the way she’d looked when she said _who?_

Her hands slammin’ on the counter.

_When you come home with a face like that, it makes it my department._

His gaze finds her again, serving up atole now, inching back towards the portable heaters, warding off the chill. The lamp of it leaves her hair brassy in that way he knows she hates, but he always kind of liked it. The way it lights like a halo, leaves her lookin’ saintly in that way he knows she ain’t.

Shit.

He don’t know why this is gettin’ to him.

He knows she waits up for him.

The nights he don’t come home.

Knew, once, that Carmen and mom and Aida did too.

His gaze slides back to Carmen’s drawn face, sippin’ on her ponche. Shit. Guess he figured they grew out of it or somethin’.

He swallows thickly, the cold air prickling at the back of his neck, and he says the only thing he can think to:

“Your divorce goin’ a’ight?”

Carmen just laughs, the sound bright and exasperated and tired.

“You need help?” Rio asks, before she can reply. “Matt playin’ the way you want him to?”

Because suddenly it feels important that she hear it. Because he ain’t the sort to throw out words, but there ain’t much he wouldn’t do for his family, and he needs her to hear it in this. That he can look after her. That he can make her problems disappear. That he _will_ if she ever wants him too, because fuck, ain’t that what all this is for?

“I can handle myself,” Carmen says. “I’m the big sister, remember?”

Rio snorts, looks away again his shoulders tight, and finds his gaze fixed on Elizabeth, and somethin’ in his chest lurches, because that crying before was Marcus, who’s now in Elizabeth’s arms, her fingers making gentle work of cleaning his grazed hands, and he should go over, he _will,_ but for a moment he just watches them. Let’s the image conjure up her in bed, her thumb running over his bruised knuckles, and he feels them stiff now around his beer bottle, hungry with the memory of her touch.

“Come on.”

Carmen’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Rio turns enough to arch an eyebrow at her, watching as she jerks her head back towards the road.

“What?”

“Your lip,” she tells him. “It needs stitches. I’ve got some shit in my car. It won’t take long.”

And he looks at her, and fuck.

It ain’t on her face, but he knows it still. That he’s the reason she’s got it in her car, and he just wonders how long she’s had it there.

* * *

“Presents!”

Leaning over the back of the passenger seat of the car, Elizabeth arches an eyebrow as she undoes Jane’s seatbelt.

“Tomorrow, baby. Tonight gran - - _abuela_ is teaching you how to make some yummy tamales, remember? And Marcus’ cousins are coming from the party to play for a bit too.”

Jane hums, weighing the promise, and Rio snorts as he unclips his own seatbelt, turning around himself to let Marcus’ out. It takes him a minute to get the damn thing – Rio only had two beers over the three hours they were at the Delgado’s Las Posadas party, but they’ve slowed him down already. Left him feeling loose, and he’s thinking of coffee when Kenny opens the car door and tumbles out, a fast way to have the rest of the kids racing out too.

“Be careful!” Elizabeth calls out after them, watching as they dash into the unlocked house, and listening when Annie wails from inside the second she’s descended upon. Rio snorts, moving to follow, only Elizabeth stops him with a hand on his wrist.

Turning to look at her, Rio just waits, watching as her blue eyes travel over his face, givin’ her the time, the space, and still, he’s surprised when she lifts a hand to tug just slightly at his lip, revealing the thick, black stitches Carmen lay in it, the flesh of his lip swelling purple beneath the sting of it.

“It kind of looks worse,” she tells him, amusement loose in her tone, and Rio snorts, but doesn’t reply, just watches her watch him.

Outside, the snow has stopped, but the wind whirs with frost, the chill of it climbin’ up the dash, through the car vents, leaving ice on top of the windscreen wipers. The thought of it makes his skin prickle, sting almost, and it’s like she hears it, because Elizabeth drops her hands, clutches them in the folds of her knit dress.

“The service was really nice,” she offers quietly, and Rio looks at her fingers, watches them twist in the fabric. “And the party too.”

And it was, damn, he knows it was, but still. He works his jaw. The thought won’t fuckin’ leave his head.

“You ever think about doin’ Channukah?”

The question leaves her jerking back in her seat in surprise, her expression open, lips twitching in something like amusement and fuck, he can feel himself stiffen, and he ain’t embarrassed, he don’t _get_ embarrassed, but something in this makes him feel - - tight. Like the car’s too small all of a sudden. He shifts his weight in his seat.

“Ain’t you Jewish?”

“On paper,” she says a little wryly, and then her brow furrows, and her eyes dart, and she just looks a little confused, like she don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, and maybe he doesn’t, and shit, that ain’t a feeling he likes, and he can feel himself wanting - - _needing_ \- - out, and - -

_Bang!_

Hands slam on his car window, and Rio jolts in his seat to see Carmen’s son, Raf, staring at him on the other side of it, a shit eating grin on his face, and shit, are they here already?

He looks back at Elizabeth, but she’s already slipping out of the car, away from him, that tension back at her shoulders, painting on that picture perfect smile of hers to meet his family, and Rio exhales, climbing out of the car, swinging Raf over his shoulder in the process.

“We gonna eat or what?”

* * *

The thing about Las Posadas, his ma always told him, was that it was about family.

And yeah, okay, Rio thinks now, watching Carmen and Annie make a fresh batch of ponche while their mother shows Kenny and Emma how to make the masa dough for the tamales, he feels it. Feels it when Marcus and Jane sing dumb, made-up songs as they lay out the soaked corn husks, feels it when Aida sprawls out on the couch with Danny and David and Raf and shows them all her tattoos, feels it when Elizabeth flusters at the dining room table, setting up plates for a dinner none of them are hungry for after the Delgado’s party.

Still, Rio thinks, slipping in to help her.

He feels it.

Because ain’t this the point?

So they eat too much food and they drink too much for Christmas Eve, and some of that nervous tightness leaves Elizabeth’s shoulders when Aida stops ignorin’ Rio just long enough to tell some too-long story that ended with him at fifteen pukin’ in their neighbour’s picnic basket, a story that has Annie hollerin’ loudest of all. Carmen hangs mistletoe in the doorway which everyone gets caught under at some point or another, and their mom makes a teary-eyed toast only to make another when she has too much ponche and forgot she ever made one in the first place, and the kids leap from room-to-room, and Rio just keeps watching Elizabeth, because the thing is, he knows there’s no switch in her to be flipped – knows there ain’t one in him neither, at least not when it comes to work – but still, he can see her tryin’ it.

Can see her grin when Marcus strides over to the fireplace, talking in a low voice to Jane about how they can get proof for the kids at school of Santa’s visit, can see it when she laughs instead of scolds Annie spike the eggnog, and the way she leans into Kenny as he shows her the Christmas TikToks his friends send him on a groupchat Rio don’t ever want to see.

Can feel it in the ebb of honeyed Christmas carols, dripping out of speakers, and Emma and Danny giggling quietly to their new abuela as they try to remember all the reindeer names.

And just - - fuck, okay. It’s nice. Good. The lull of the evenin’ like a spell, everyone fed and the plans for tomorrow set and the presents beneath the tree primly wrapped in that personal sorta way he never thought mattered until her, and it’s gotta be the rum in the bottom of his glass that has him feelin’ heavy and light all at once. Has him feelin’ every inch of this moment. Has him wantin’ to pluck it out of the air around him and dip it in gold.

Make it somethin’ he can set and hold and keep.

In his pocket or on a chain.

Or - -

Nah.

Maybe wrapped around his finger.

The thought makes him flick his tongue against his teeth, makes him glance over at Elizabeth, away from him now, her arms around her sister’s shoulders, body sunk heavily against her, sleepy and bright, but her eyes glowin’ somehow, and it ain’t right. The way she looks. Or maybe it’s too right. Rio’s given up knowin’, but it still leaves his hand twitching, thumb rubbing at that naked space on his finger, feels below his middle knuckle and - -

“Od? Are you gonna read us a story?”

Rio blinks, twisting to look back at Emma and Danny, tired eyed at the table, and his own mom beside them, smiling gently.

“We’re going to head off. It’s getting a little late,” she says quietly, then jerks her head at the kids, and huh, Rio thinks.

Yeah. He can read them a story.

* * *

It doesn’t take long to get the kids washed up and tucked up in their beds, sleep finding each of them almost before Rio’s turned out their lights, their jaws slack and the filmy skin of their eyelids left to twitch with dreams of what, Rio’s got no idea – Santa and reindeers and luminarias and the champurrado they’d drunk as their limbs had gotten heavy.

Somethin’ bright and fresh in that way childhood sweetened everything.

Downstairs, the house is mostly cleaned up between his mother and Elizabeth – all the dishes washed and left to dry on the rack, the leftovers put away, the counters scrubbed, and Rio wanders quietly through the now empty kitchen, then the dining room, starting when he hears Elizabeth laugh from the living room.

“That is _not_ how it happened,” she says, and Rio follows the sound, only to pause in the doorway.

Sprawled out on the couch, Elizabeth is lying down, her feet in her sister’s lap, otherwise half-melted into the cushions. There’s an easy smile on her tired face, her shoulders lax, a glass of bourbon in her hands as Annie drinks her own, making a grabby hand to the blanket on the other couch in the process – asking Rio to deliver.

And he does, plucking it up and passing it over, and Annie makes quick work of tossing the thing across them both, wriggling down into it with a grin that only makes Elizabeth’s broaden, and - -

It’s good, he thinks, to see Elizabeth like this.

To see her loose in the way she ain’t been all day, but he can’t help it.

The way he blinks.

Licks his teeth.

Sees Elizabeth tight lipped last night and on edge this morning, sees her stiff in the Delgado’s parking lot, and the way she’d reeled back in the car earlier, sees her everything, all day, that she ain’t in these dumb fuckin’ minutes with her sister, and he just thinks - -

Fuck.

He don’t know what he thinks.

He wets his lips.

“You ladies stayin’ up?” he asks, and Elizabeth wrinkles her nose, looks briefly guilty as she looks at Annie and then her glass, and says:

“Just a little longer, if that’s okay?”

And he nods, because it ain’t like it’s not, and Rio kisses her gently, huffing at the face she pulls when her lips press against his stitches.

Behind her, the lights on the tree are still switched on, and they blink in that stranger sorta look – like stars pulled down to their living room or some bullshit poetry that any of the women in his life would tout and laugh at, and a part of him hates that it still dances with his attention. Hates that it does still when he carts the presents down from upstairs to start loading up the kids’ stockings at the fireplace. That when Elizabeth slips off the couch to help him, the glow from them spins somethin’ magic against her pale skin, and behind them Annie yawns loud and says somethin’ about _sleepin’ in,_ and Elizabeth’s tellin’ her she’s dreamin’ as she slides that treasured Barbie into Emma’s Christmas stocking, and Rio thinks maybe he’s just tired, because that steady burn in him is back, and Elizabeth ain’t stiff beside him. Not like this, and he’s thinkin’ about bed, about her in it, about a ring again, when his cell buzzes in the back pocket of his jeans and he pulls it out to a message from Mick.

_Job’s done._

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Winter Wonderland. 
> 
> Based on the prompts: 
> 
> Prompt for the Center and Circumference: Beth and Rio spend their first X-mas together as a family. Maybe some clashing Christmas traditions and some holiday chaos ;) ⭐ Hi omg I love your fanfic playing house . So I came up with this idea for a prompt.. what if it’s their first Christmas in the house together and everyone is coming together including marcus’ mom and dean and Beth and rio sneak away but dean walks in mom them . Which would make for an interesting Christmas dinner or thanksgiving lol . Ik it’s kinda early for Christmas but I just couldn’t get this outta my mind! ⭐ Brio prompts (if you like it): five times Beth and Rio get interrupted while having sex and one time they don't. ⭐ Prompt for C&C, Emma has a nightmare and starts crying for Rio. ⭐ 50! In Secret kiss #brio ⭐ Prompt for PH: Rio’s sister(s) catch him having a really sweet moment with Beth and gives him a hard time about it. ⭐ Prompt for C&C: Snow day!!! Everyone’s outside playing in the snow!! ⭐ Had something similar happen to me recently, can’t stop laughing about it, thought it would make a good prompt for C&C: The kids new cousins decide to teach them some new (bad) words in Spanish. They then decides to share these new words with everyone during Sunday dinner. Chaos ensues. ⭐ I think Judith is such an important but hilarious character in Beth’s story. I would love to see her in the Center and Circumference world... especially with Rio. ⭐ Prompt for C&C AU: Rio’s family sees him acting paternal to one of Beth’s kids. ⭐ Prompt for Playing House AU: Rio vents (in his oh so special Rio way), to either one of his family members or Mick, about the lack of respect Dean has for Beth. Maybe toys with the idea of handling it himself, or trying to convince Beth to chew his ass out.


End file.
